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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093396">white dove</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall'>SomeRainMustFall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackmail, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Protective Gil Arroyo, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, all the creepy Nicholas Endicott that we didn't get but deserved, and then some soft Broyo to the rescue, mentions of an eating disorder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:27:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gil, come on," Malcolm says, hiding his shaking hand in his pocket. "You know I'd tell you if there was something wrong."</p><p>Gil settles himself to sit on the desk, crossing his arms. He's done nothing but get more suspicious as time has gone on, but with Malcolm's face left untouched and the rest of him covered, it's hard, impossible even, to prove anything. "And is there?"</p><p>Malcolm hesitates. Words ache to escape, burning on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>
  <i>Yes. Help me.</i>
</p><p>"No," he says instead, and smiles. "There’s nothing.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Nicholas Endicott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>202</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/gifts">Zoejoy24</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by <a href="https://zoejoy24.tumblr.com/post/620025150174363648/54-please">this drabble</a> by Zoejoy24.</p><p>This IS the darkest thing I've posted, so please be aware of that. There will be graphic depictions of rape, dissociation, manipulation, and abuse, and while there will be comfort, it's definitely not at first. Nicholas Endicott is a terrible, awful man whom I am upset we didn't get more scenes with.</p><p>It's also endgame Gil/Malcolm! Because I love them. </p><p>Anyway, blame Zoe. I will direct all concerns to her. Please enjoy! ^u^</p><p>Title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tXiILKq6LI">white dove</a> by Koda. (Music video TW for some abuse and nudity).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It starts innocently enough.</p><p> </p><p>A brush on his shoulder. A pat on his arm. A rub on the back of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't like to be touched. Not without his explicit consent. Everyone seems to understand that.</p><p> </p><p>But not Nicholas. He touches. He does it <em> too much</em>. When his hand weighs on Malcolm's back, and Malcolm pushes it away, he laughs like it's funny.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop," Malcolm says. He's annoyed. He's <em> uncomfortable</em>. It keeps happening. He wants it to stop, but he's never been good at words when it comes to this. <em> Stop </em>should logically be the only one he needs, but that's failed before. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure," Nicholas replies. He sounds sincere enough, but Malcolm isn’t sure. "My apologies."</p><p> </p><p>The next chance he gets, he smacks Malcolm on the ass.</p><p> </p><p>Shock freezes Malcolm in place. He's not entirely sure, for a moment, that that actually just happened.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally manages to turn, Nicholas is smirking. His gaze is predatory, sweeping over Malcolm's body as he licks his lips, and it makes Malcolm’s heart start to pound.</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry," Nicholas says. "I couldn't help myself." </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm can't say a word. He just...<em>can't. </em> He opens his mouth, to shout or curse, but nothing comes out.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn't make sense. He knows <em> that, </em> if nothing else, wasn't just a touch. That was Nicholas coming onto him, and Malcolm is deeply confused, doesn't understand at all, because Nicholas is dating his mother. They've been content with each other. Malcolm has <em> seen </em>how they are.</p><p> </p><p>Yet the looks linger longer. The touches start happening more, no matter how much Malcolm tries to avoid them. </p><p> </p><p>He starts becoming afraid to come home. He starts avoiding calls, dinners, invitations, because this is something he doesn't know how to deal with.</p><p> </p><p>His mother is <em>so</em> <em>happy. </em>She's dated terrible men before. Malcolm was subjected to their wrath as a younger boy. But never <em>this. </em>This is something different. </p><p> </p><p>He knows he needs to tell someone, tell <em> her. </em> He just has to find the courage to perhaps destroy the only good thing in her life, and that will take a while. </p><p> </p><p>It takes <em> too long. </em> </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas corners him in the living room one night after a family dinner Malcolm finally agreed to come to, after his mother has gone up to bed. He looks at Malcolm with hunger in his eyes and a little smile on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>"I'd like you to come sit down with me, Malcolm," he says. "Have a drink."</p><p> </p><p>"I can't stay," Malcolm replies. </p><p> </p><p>But as he turns, Nicholas grabs his wrist and squeezes hard. It hurts. Malcolm doesn't like what it implies, doesn’t like how helpless and vulnerable it makes him feel.</p><p> </p><p>"Sit down with me," Nicholas says, and this time it's not toned as a request. "We need to talk."</p><p> </p><p>Though his stomach is twisting, Malcolm nods. Nicholas smiles and releases him, and so Malcolm sits on the couch, watching the man pour two glasses of liquor. </p><p> </p><p>"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Nicholas says, handing one to Malcolm and sitting beside him. “I’d like to get to know you better, now that me and your mother have become more serious.”</p><p> </p><p>Too close. He’s too close.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm can hardly breathe, hand shaking as it clenches the glass. He quickly switches it to the other hand to avoid a repeat of the injury he suffered in his therapist's office. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me a bit about yourself,” Nicholas says. He leans back, draping an arm back over the couch behind Malcolm’s head, and Malcolm flinches. Nicholas immediately moves, as if he cares to make Malcolm feel better, and it makes Malcolm suddenly doubtful.</p><p> </p><p>He goes over everything in his head. He wonders if he's been <em> mistaking </em>things, or if they didn't happen the way he remembered.</p><p> </p><p>But they did. He isn't <em> that </em> crazy. Those feelings of dread and those <em> hands </em>aren't something he could have imagined.</p><p> </p><p>Yet he's imagined a lot, hasn't he? Perhaps it was nothing more.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s nothing to tell,” he manages at last.</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm,” Nicholas tuts, “come now. We can’t be friends if you keep me shut out.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t <em> like </em> you.” Malcolm pulls away, scooting against the corner, eyeing the nearest exit. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course not. We haven’t had the chance to talk. I thought this might be the perfect time to.” </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shakes his head, but he's mulling it over. He knows it would be easier. He knows it's what his mother wants. Maybe if he asked Nicholas to <em> explain </em>himself, or used his damn words to tell Nicholas how he feels, things could be different.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't get the chance. Nicholas’s eyes lock on Malcolm’s hand as it rests, shaking, on his knee.</p><p> </p><p>And then slowly, he reaches over and grasps it.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't be scared," he says as Malcolm gasps. "I'm not going to hurt you."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm stares down at their hands. All question is removed from his mind.</p><p> </p><p>"I need to go home," he murmurs. He wants to pull away and he <em> can’t</em>. "I need to go."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas tightens his grip, and Malcolm winces.</p><p> </p><p>"You don't want to talk," Nicholas says. "That's alright. Then really, we can cut right to the chase."</p><p> </p><p>He pulls Malcolm forward, grasps his chin between his thumb and a curled index finger, and kisses him. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm drops the glass. It spills onto the carpet. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, Malcolm," Nicholas whispers. "You taste divine."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm whimpers. He finally manages to pull away, and Nicholas only yanks him back.</p><p> </p><p>"Ssh," Nicholas soothes, and Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut as their lips meet again. </p><p> </p><p>It feels wrong. It feels disgusting. <em>Malcolm </em>feels disgusting. He feels like he's betraying his mother, and he <em>doesn't</em> <em>want it.</em></p><p> </p><p>"Please don't—" he says, pushing at Nicholas’s chest, and Nicholas grasps both his wrists and pins them down to his lap. It makes him squirm in a sudden panic, unable to escape without using more force than he’d prefer. He could, quite easily, blacken Nicholas's eye, bust his nose, with a simple thrust forward with his head, giving minimal damage to himself. But what would his mother say? What would she <em> think?  </em></p><p> </p><p>What would Nicholas do in retaliation? </p><p> </p><p>Instead he resorts to what he's already tried, hoping there's somehow a different outcome this time. "St-stop! No. Please no."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas hums. "No?” </p><p> </p><p>“Stop,” Malcolm pleads. “I want you to stop. I’m telling you to <em> stop.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas smiles. He doesn’t release him. Instead, he asks, “You want to keep your mother safe and happy, don't you?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm blinks hard, once again going rigid and still. “Are you—what does that mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, dear Malcolm. It’s only a question.” He leans closer. “You do, don’t you? You want me to stay with her, right? You want her to stay as happy as she is now, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to agree.</p><p> </p><p>"Well...I have to tell you a secret." He kisses him again, nipping his lower lip, and Malcolm turns his head to the side with a grimace, making Nicholas chuckle. "I have...needs, Malcolm. Needs that your mother has yet to satisfy. Needs that, frankly, I don’t think she <em> can </em> satisfy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Needs,” Malcolm repeats. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. I’m quite sure you can figure out where I’m going. You’re a very smart boy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a boy,” Malcolm says, “and I want nothing to do with your <em> needs.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm…” he says, grazing his teeth along Malcolm's jaw. "Perhaps your sister would be more open to my attention. Is that what you'd prefer?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm gasps. He feels the weight of his phone in his pocket, knows he could call for help or scream out for his mother, but he doesn't. The words scare him. </p><p> </p><p><em> Nicholas </em>scares him. It’s something he’s been trying to ignore, but he can’t anymore. Nicholas could outmatch him, easily. Nicholas is too strong, too powerful, and it has nothing to do with physical strength. If he wanted to, he could make Malcolm completely disappear, and no one would ever know what happened to him.</p><p> </p><p>"No," Malcolm manages finally, doing his best to keep his voice steadier than his body. "No. You leave her alone.”</p><p> </p><p>"If not her," Nicholas says, between pressing a trail of kisses closer and closer to Malcolm’s mouth, "then it has to be you." He nudges his knee between Malcolm's thighs, starting to push him onto his back. "Let me."</p><p> </p><p>"I don't want to," Malcolm whispers, even as he obediently leans. It reminds him too much of the way he'd been overpowered with muscle and violence in college, only now Nicholas only has to keep his position and rank over Malcolm's head. "Please. <em>No</em>. You're dating my mother!"</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas laughs. "I don't want to <em> date </em>you, dear Malcolm...I just want to be inside you. I want to feel how tight you are around me. That's all. Just once. That’s all I need.”</p><p> </p><p>Foolishly, Malcolm asks, "J...just once?"</p><p> </p><p>"You have my word,” Nicholas tells him with a charming smile. “Satisfy me tonight and I'll never ask again. I’ll keep your mother safe, happy, content. I won’t touch a hair on Ainsley’s pretty little head. But I want that from you. Think of it as a trade. You for them.”</p><p> </p><p>Sickened, Malcolm hesitates.</p><p> </p><p>But Nicholas knows he worded himself just right. And he knows Malcolm won’t say no. <em> Can’t. </em></p><p> </p><p>He knows Malcolm values himself less than them, and would do anything he could if it meant their protection.</p><p> </p><p>So eventually, Malcolm gives in. </p><p> </p><p>He nods, and says, "Okay."</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't sleep that night. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas wasn't rough, but he wasn't gentle. Malcolm's sore in a number of places, stifled groans the entire taxi ride home and now only able to lay on his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't bother with his restraints. He knows he won't be sleeping. He simply buries his face in his pillows and tries his hardest to forget.</p><p> </p><p>One time. It was just once. It was just sex. He wasn't a virgin, and he's done more for less. For Ainsley's protection, for his mother’s, he would have done more.</p><p> </p><p>It's nothing.</p><p> </p><p>His mother calls in the morning, leaves a voicemail. She says Nicholas told her they had talked, got to know each other a little better, and she loves to hear that he’s opening up like he hasn’t yet.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm throws up, then takes another shower. </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite feel clean again.</p><p> </p><p>As he exits, a long time later, skin red and rubbed raw, he answers another call.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, kid," comes that warm, familiar voice, and Malcolm lets himself bask in it for a moment. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Gil."</p><p> </p><p>"Up for a case? I think you'll really like this one."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm breathes in deep. Anything to get his mind off the pain.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course. Anything for you."</p><p> </p><p>Gil hums. Malcolm smiles at the sound.</p><p> </p><p>"Great. Text you the address. See you soon."</p><p> </p><p>And when he greets Malcolm with a trademark squeeze to the back of his neck, Malcolm can, for just a while, forget everything wrong in the world.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He can't do it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Guilt and shame gnaw at his insides. He can hardly look his mother in the eyes anymore, let alone speak to her.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to tell Gil. He thinks about doing so. Nearly does. He thinks about telling his mother, Ainsley, his therapist, <em> anyone. </em> He comes <em> so close. </em></p><p> </p><p>But he doesn't, because he's afraid. He's ashamed. And he had consented, so there's no real <em> problem, </em> right? It's not like Nicholas raped him. He didn't. He couldn't have. Malcolm hadn't wanted it, had wanted to <em>die </em>throughout it, but…he'd consented. That has to mean it's okay. </p><p> </p><p>And it seems to have <em> worked. </em> Nicholas doesn't touch him anymore. He still looks, but he leaves Malcolm's body alone, as promised. </p><p> </p><p>More importantly, he leaves <em> them </em>alone.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? He thinks, maybe he can even pretend it never happened at all. There’s no reason for him to put them in danger if he doesn’t need to. They’re on Nicholas’s good side. <em> Malcolm </em> is. Nicholas assured him they would be kept safe, and with the reach over the city that he has, Malcolm believes it.</p><p> </p><p>It had taken a piece of his already fractured soul, but every time he sees his mother smile he remembers how it's his fault she was ever sad in the first place. <em> He </em> took Martin away. <em> He </em>was the reason her boyfriends got angry enough to lash out and eventually leave her. </p><p> </p><p>They liked Ainsley, or didn't care about her. Malcolm was the one they chose to take their tempers out on, and though Malcolm still doesn't know <em> why </em>he still blames himself. </p><p> </p><p>It's okay now, though. It has to be. His mother deserves it all to be okay.</p><p> </p><p>And then things change again. Then Nicholas reaches over during dinner, with his mother and Ainsley talking across the table, and slides his palm over Malcolm's inner thigh. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm jerks, knees hitting the bottom of the table and sending pain down to his toes, and his mother and sister pause to stare at him, worried.</p><p> </p><p>"What happened, darling?" Jessica asks, and Malcolm stares at Nicholas, who dabs his mouth with a napkin before looking up at Malcolm, face frighteningly void of emotions.</p><p> </p><p>"I—" Malcolm says, and then whimpers softly. "I just had a cramp. Sorry."</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know what to do. He needs guidance. He has—he has to tell Gil, because Gil might be the only one who can help him.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't manage to leave the house fast enough. Nicholas grasps a handful of his coat lapels as he tries and pulls him down a hallway, into a room no one uses, that no one will interrupt them in.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas slides his hand down his back, pulling his coat off with a rough tug, and Malcolm flinches away.</p><p> </p><p>"You said once," he murmurs, and Nicholas pushes him against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>"I know," Nicholas says, kissing at his neck. "You're just so beautiful, Malcolm. I can only think about you."</p><p> </p><p>"Should be thinking about <em> her,</em>" Malcolm tells him, scowling. "Get away from me."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas doesn't. He moves closer, rubbing himself against Malcolm’s hip, and Malcolm grunts.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll be quick," Nicholas says, reaching down to squeeze Malcolm's ass. "Just let me—"</p><p> </p><p>"You said once!" Malcolm hisses, finally slapping him across the face. "Fuck off me!" </p><p> </p><p>The shift is nearly instantaneous. Nicholas stops feigning kindness, stops being patient. He growls, grabbing Malcolm by the throat, and slams him back, tearing his shirt open to bear his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm’s mouth drops open, his gasp weak and strangled. He hoarsely cries out, "Stop! Stop, stop, stop! <em> Mom!</em>" before Nicholas muffles him with a kiss, tossing him down onto a recliner and pushing his face into the fabric to keep him quiet while he wrestles his pants down.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut your little mouth or I’ll fuck you dry,” Nicholas says, spitting in his hand and shoving a finger up into him so suddenly that Malcolm screams. He bucks forward in an attempt to get away from the intrusion, but Nicholas gives him no room or leverage to move, pushing in a second far too soon and stretching him far too aggressively. </p><p> </p><p>“Nick—" he gasps. He fights, pushes back, and Nicholas grabs him by the back of his neck and keeps him there. </p><p> </p><p>"You don't have to—" Malcolm tries, and Nicholas snickers.</p><p> </p><p>"But I want to," he says, and then removes his fingers, flips him over, and pushes into him with a thrust.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas's hand wraps around his throat, cutting off the tormented sound that's punched from Malcolm's lungs. He writhes, pounding his fists against the man and trying desperately to get away. When that gets him nowhere, he reaches up to claw at the hand, his lungs burning for more air than he’s being allowed to have, mouth opening and closing as he still tries to get the man to see reason.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop—don't need to—"</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas presses against him, keeps him there with his weight. He squeezes hard enough that Malcolm can’t get any air at <em> all, </em>and starts to fuck him, waiting until Malcolm’s eyes are rolling back before letting him breathe again. Malcolm sags back, coughing, and grips onto the armrests, fingers digging in as he tightly closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"That's it—good boy—just let me—<em>aah</em>—"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shuts him out. He shuts everything out, somehow. </p><p> </p><p>It isn’t real. It’s a nightmare, nothing more. <em> Nothing more. </em> It can’t be anything else. He doesn't register what's happening anymore until a sharp bite on his shoulder brings him back to the feeling of Nicholas coming deep inside him, and his own cock throbbing, neglected between them. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas doesn't touch him. For that, Malcolm has to be grateful. When he's done, he simply pulls out and lets Malcolm slide off onto the ground, discarded. </p><p> </p><p>"Thanks," Nicholas says at last, fixing himself as Malcolm looks up at him with teary eyes. "I really needed that. Long day."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm is quiet. Malcolm feels <em> broken. </em></p><p> </p><p>"Chin up, kid," Nicholas says, straightening his tie, leaving no evidence that anyone but Malcolm was ever bothered. "Anyone would give anything to have me want them like this. They <em> do. </em> The amount of ass that gets thrown at me daily is something else, kid."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm still doesn't respond. He stares, and imagines himself far, far away. On a case, perhaps, with Gil. He imagines Gil’s smile, his hand on the back of Malcolm’s neck, and a bit of the pain seems to fade.</p><p> </p><p>"Clean up before the miss comes back down, will you? Wouldn't want her seeing you like this, would you?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm starts to cry. Maybe he was already crying. Nicholas coos at him, getting to one knee and tilting Malcolm's chin back to look him over.</p><p> </p><p>"You look angelic when you cry," he says, kissing him again. "Those eyes…"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm going to tell her," Malcolm chokes out, and Nicholas fits his hand around Malcolm's throat again.</p><p> </p><p>"You are not," Nicholas replies, quite calmly. "You're going to be a good boy. You're going to be good to me, so that I can be good to her."</p><p> </p><p>That startles him like nothing else. "Wh—<em>what?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas kisses him. It feels worse than it ever did before. "I understand you may be a bit in shock right now,” he says, “but what I ask of you is really very simple.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm stares up at him. Nicholas smirks, wiping away some of the tears still running down his face.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you,” he says. “I have needs. Needs I have to take care of. I, myself, prefer sex a little rough, a little violent. But Jessica? Oh, she needs it soft. She needs it gentle. She’s so fragile. So breakable. She's been hurt so many times, hasn't she? I’d really, really hate to hurt her, too...so I’m going to hurt you instead.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shakes his head, slowly, starting to pant as the reality of the situation really sinks in. “No…you...what? You can’t…”</p><p> </p><p>"I assure you that I can. That I <em> am."</em> He leans over, kissing at Malcolm's neck while he's unable to move. "You see, boy...I can do anything I want. And you’re going to let me, because you have no other choice. Don't you know that by now?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's can't bring himself to say a thing. Nicholas trails his mouth up to Malcolm's, and Malcolm finally flinches and tries to pull away again.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop—" </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas raises his hand and smacks him. It startles him into silence. </p><p> </p><p>“I can make everyone you love suffer, Malcolm,” he says. His voice has changed. It's become something darker, something terrifyingly threatening. “I can make them disappear. Jessica. Ainsley. Gil Arroyo.<em> You</em>. Don’t forget who I am, what I do, and the connections I have. I know everyone in this city. Everyone. I <em> own </em>it. If you think you’ll outwit me for one second, little boy, you need to reevaluate, because I can end everything you’ve ever known with a snap of my fingers."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm fucking crumbles. Shock prevents him from feeling all he knows he will later, numbs his nerves and brain to try and protect him, but he still feels enough. Despair crushes him, weighs on his shoulders and chest, and he wants to scream. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll—" he starts, and Nicholas covers his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll do <em> what, </em> boy?” he asks. “What will you do to me? What <em> can </em>you do to me? Who are you going to tell that can lay a finger on me?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm lowers his eyes. He whimpers softly against Nicholas’s palm, and Nicholas squeezes his cheeks, digging his nails in.</p><p> </p><p>“What will you do?” he asks, quieter.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sobs, and whispers, <em>"Nothing."</em></p><p> </p><p>Nicholas grins. He kisses him again, with no other intent but to claim Malcolm's mouth as his own. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s right,” he says when he's done. “Very good boy. <em> My </em>very good boy.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes Malcolm’s chin, lifting it up to meet their eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Mine,</em>” he repeats. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shakes his head, but the fight is gone from his body. Nicholas moves his head for him, forces him to nod, and Malcolm doesn't even consider stopping him. All that’s left is shame and fear and <em>pain</em>. All he can do is tremble.</p><p> </p><p>And then, when Nicholas is satisfied, when he finally plants one last ruinous kiss to Malcolm's swollen lips and then leaves him alone, all Malcolm can do is cry.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is getting so much love 🥺 Thank you so much! ❤️️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Malcolm comes to work with bruises he can't hide, it's Dani who notices them first. </p><p> </p><p>He ducks under the yellow police tape fluttering in the wind of the coming storm, brushes a droplet of rain from his cheek when it lands, and approaches the scene with squared shoulders and a stoic expression to mask the pain.</p><p> </p><p>Dani just happens to be the first of his team to greet him, and she gives him a once-over before quietly murmuring, "What happened?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm smiles. His heart pulls in his chest. "It's nothing. My nightmares have really been giving me a hard time."</p><p> </p><p>And they have. He just leaves out that they're no longer the scariest things in his life.</p><p> </p><p>She purses her lips, nodding her acceptance of the excuse, and he slides past her.</p><p> </p><p>He has to remind himself that it’s his fault. He’d known nothing good would come of challenging Nicholas, and it isn’t the first time the man has smacked him around or been too rough, but it <em> is </em>the first time he’s been beaten to such severity that makes it difficult to move. </p><p> </p><p>It’s his fault. He knows he can’t say no. He <em> knows </em>that. But he rarely sleeps anymore, always on edge, easily set off into fear. He’d struggled too much, kicked out too hard, foot connecting in just the wrong place to make Nicholas drop to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>And then he’d <em> laughed, </em>because his sanity is lacking these days more than ever.</p><p> </p><p>He deserved it, really. He’s lucky Nicholas took it out on him instead of his family.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas tends to take everything out on him. <em> That </em> isn't Malcolm's fault, just a cross he has to bear.</p><p> </p><p>Gil sees next. It's harder to lie to him. He cups Malcolm's cheek, touches his thumb to the patch of black and blue above his cheekbone, and Malcolm closes his eyes. There's nothing safer than Gil's touch, nothing that makes him feel quite as good. If he could, he'd stay right in this moment forever.</p><p> </p><p>But he can't. He breathes deep and says, "I'm fine, Gil. Really."</p><p> </p><p>He has to pretend. He has to. There's no other option. </p><p> </p><p>"Kid…" Gil says, too soft, too <em> affectionate, </em> for Malcolm to deal with right now. </p><p> </p><p>He pulls away, straightens his suit, and whirls to excitedly take in the crime scene.</p><p> </p><p>Work is all he has.</p><p> </p><p><em> Distraction </em> is all he has.</p><p> </p><p>"What happened to your face, Malcolm?" Nicholas asks that night, over another dinner he's no longer allowed to skip, over food Malcolm's required to shovel down his throat or face consequences worse than vomiting it up afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>Jessica looks at him. Ainsley is still at work. Nicholas doesn't reign over her every move, as long as Malcolm behaves.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh," Malcolm says softly. "Hazards of work."</p><p> </p><p>The pain in his chest as Jessica believes him is suffocating. She sighs, shakes her head, and goes into a long-winded rant about how distasteful and dangerous his job is.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas watches him the whole time, a little smirk quirking the corner of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>When she's done, he asks for Malcolm's help in the kitchen with bringing out dessert. Malcolm follows, obediently, and doesn't react when Nicholas crams him up against the wall to kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>"It's beautiful to see you be good for me," Nicholas says. He touches Malcolm, himself, breathes into his neck as he rocks against him.</p><p> </p><p>And then pulls away when there's a gasp. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's heart stops. If it's <em> Jessica— </em></p><p> </p><p>Instead, a bit more mercifully, one of Jessica's maids stands in the doorway, looking stunned. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas straightens his suit, wipes at his mouth. He puts his hands on his hips and turns to the maid, while Malcolm simply waits for instructions, cheeks flushed as he tilts his head to the floor, wanting to melt into it. She probably thinks he wants this, that he's encouraging Nicholas to cheat on his own mother, that he's nothing but the slut Nicholas tells him he is. Tears prick at his eyes, and he sniffles, dragging the back of his hand under his nose to try and hide it.</p><p> </p><p>"Go," Nicholas tells her. "Now."</p><p> </p><p>She scurries away. Nicholas has never come across as a man to be messed with. He turns his attention to Malcolm, and the second Malcolm dares to look up Nicholas backhands him. It's hard enough to make him stagger, and he covers his cheek with a shaking hand and can't hold back the sob that slips from his lips.</p><p> </p><p>"Whore," Nicholas says. "Don't you dare cry. <em> Go.</em>" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm leaves without needing to be told twice. He sits himself back across from his mother, eyes and throat still burning with tears that he manages to, for the sake of his own preservation, keep at bay.</p><p> </p><p>He could tell her, though. Right now. They're alone. She looks at him and smiles, asks him where Nicholas is. He could tell her that he's recovering from assaulting Malcolm yet again.</p><p> </p><p>Instead he shrugs. Instead he drinks his glass of wine and pours another, hoping it numbs him to the pain he knows comes after she goes upstairs.</p><p> </p><p>The maid doesn't come to work the next day, but Jessica doesn't really notice. </p><p> </p><p>She trusts Nicholas. She <em> loves </em>him. She knows he'll take care of everything.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't know anything. Doesn't know that he's forced Malcolm to give him a key to his apartment and comes in any time he wants, nearly every night but just irregular enough to leave Malcolm unable to know for sure when, leaving him always unsafe. That he's abused Malcolm in every room of the Whitly house, in <em> her bed </em>while Jessica was out at an event.</p><p> </p><p>But he takes care of her. Of Ainsley.</p><p> </p><p>Of Malcolm, in the sickest way.</p><p> </p><p>"I could kill you," he tells Malcolm too often. "Be grateful I don't. That's because I'm a good man. I don't ask for much."</p><p> </p><p>Not much. </p><p> </p><p>Just everything Malcolm can possibly give. His life. His soul.</p><p> </p><p>But it's nothing, really.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing at all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>x</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas becomes more careful with where he marks Malcolm. Malcolm hadn't told him how his team asked about his face, but Nicholas is smart. He knows he can't get away with it very often. It had only been a fluke that it had been hard enough to bruise, because other times it hadn’t. Instead, he smacks him over the back of the head or the top, where his hair can cover any proof it leaves. The rest of the bruises remain under his clothes, where they can be properly hidden. </p><p> </p><p>Then they stop being only bruises.</p><p> </p><p>He often walks home from work when he gets Nicholas’s message to be on time coming home, trying to clear his head, trying <em> more </em> to avoid it all while he can because he knows what that means. It makes Nicholas wait, makes him impatient and annoyed, and that's the only satisfaction Malcolm can get anymore.</p><p> </p><p>One night he takes a way he usually doesn't, gets a bit turned around (though really doesn't mind the extra air at all). He walks into his apartment two hours after the time he's required to be back, and Nicholas grabs him the moment the door is opened, drags him inside, and slams him up against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>"Where were you?" </p><p> </p><p>"J-just walking," Malcolm says, weakly. "I got lost." </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas scoffs. He slides his hand around Malcolm’s throat and presses. "Your mother always brags about how <em> smart </em>you are, but you get lost in a city you’ve lived in your whole life? Liar.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am not!” Malcolm protests in a desperate wheeze, and Nicholas exhales his breath harshly through his nose. </p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps not. But you have to be punished either way, because it’s unacceptable.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm expects a beating. Simple and effective in causing the pain Nicholas wants to.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, Nicholas strips him, restrains him on the bed, and lights a cigar. Malcolm’s heart pounds as he watches Nicholas take a drag, the end of the stick glowing hot. </p><p> </p><p>And then, blowing out the smoke, he flips the cigar around between his fingers and presses it to Malcolm’s thigh. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm chokes on his scream. With sick joy, Nicholas burns Malcolm over and over, switching to another cigar when the first crumbles to ash, until Malcolm is sobbing and pleading for mercy from a man who has none to give.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you going to do next time, boy?" he purrs into Malcolm's ear afterwards, buried inside him. "Hmm? What did you learn?"</p><p> </p><p>"Take a taxi," Malcolm gasps. "Won't be late again."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas smiles. He says, "Good boy," and Malcolm feels a horrible sense of relief, hoping that he’ll be granted some sort of reprieve as long as he doesn't misbehave again.</p><p> </p><p>But as if that night served as the catalyst, it only seems to get worse. Malcolm is good, and Nicholas sometimes still decides to burn him. Malcolm is <em>behaved,</em> and Nicholas sometimes still unfolds his pocketknife to leave shallow nicks, just deep enough to draw blood, to hurt the next day, all over his body. Malcolm is <em>perfect, </em>and sometimes he still limps the next morning from how rough Nicholas took him, or for days from the severity of a beating. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he has to tell Gil he can't come in, because he can't get up at all. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas praises him on how much pain he can take—but praises <em> himself </em> on how much pain he can <em> cause</em>, stops pretending to be anything other than the monster he is. He tells Malcolm it has to happen, it’s necessary, it’s for his <em> own </em>good. He’s just making sure Malcolm listens to him, that Malcolm continues his obedience, that he never forgets his place. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm knows better, though. As much as Nicholas tells him he’s not as smart as he is, doesn’t know as much as he does, he can see the enjoyment Nicholas gets from his agony. It scares him. He worries Nicholas will lose himself to the sadism eventually, will hurt Malcolm beyond what he can recover from, <em> kill </em> him even.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm just wants to be free from this. Death isn’t his first option, but it’s an option all the same, he supposes.</p><p> </p><p>He grows weaker, thinner, without really noticing. Food makes him sick. <em> Everything </em> makes him sick. Eventually, though, Gil decides it's enough to pull Malcolm into his office and close the door. His hand could wrap twice around Malcolm's wrist with how much weight Malcolm's lost, and Malcolm stares down at it for a moment, really sees just how <em> sick </em> he looks, before tugging free.</p><p> </p><p>"I need you to tell me what's going on," Gil says. </p><p> </p><p>It's an order, and Malcolm wishes he could obey. He wishes Gil could stop it. He wishes <em> anyone </em> could stop it.</p><p> </p><p>But no one can.</p><p> </p><p>"Gil, come on," Malcolm says, hiding his shaking hand in his pocket. "You know I'd tell you if there was something wrong."</p><p> </p><p>Gil settles himself to sit on the desk, crossing his arms. He's done nothing but get more suspicious as time has gone on, but with Malcolm's face left untouched and the rest of him covered, it's hard, impossible even, to prove anything. "And is there?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm hesitates. Words ache to escape, burning on the tip of his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yes. Help me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"No," he says instead, and smiles. "There’s nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>"You swear to me?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No. Please, Gil, help me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm nods. He could pull off his scarf, show Gil the persisting redness of his neck where Nicholas had brutally strangled him last night in anger from his own day at work, but he doesn’t. "I swear."</p><p> </p><p>Gil takes a deep breath in. Malcolm wonders if Gil even believes him at all. He almost hopes Gil doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, Gil nods. "Okay. Go home, Bright. I'll call you tomorrow if there's a case."</p><p> </p><p>"You can call me anyways," Malcolm says, though isn't sure he really meant to. It sounds needy. It sounds desperate. He's both. "I just, uh…"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I need you. I'm scared and alone. Please, God, someone fucking help me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gil hums through a light smile. "Okay. Then I will. Goodnight." </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's eyes linger on Gil, the only person he ever wants to see again, and then slide to the doorway. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't want to go home. With an unanswered text from a number he recognizes too well on his phone, he knows what’s waiting for him there. </p><p> </p><p>He wants to go to Gil’s. He wants Gil to wrap him up in his arms and never, ever let go.</p><p> </p><p>But it doesn't matter what he wants. It hasn't for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>So he nods, says, "Goodnight, Gil," and goes anyways. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>x</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas likes to taunt him. </p><p> </p><p>He drags his hands over wounds Malcolm can't show anyone and calls them art. He sucks bruises onto the body that Malcolm no longer owns to make sure he remembers. He calls Malcolm names. He calls Malcolm <em> beautiful. </em> Sometimes both in the same breath.</p><p> </p><p>He likes to bring up Gil, Jessica, Ainsley. He likes to make Malcolm cry beneath him from pain, but far more likes it to happen from emotion.</p><p> </p><p>And Malcolm has so <em> many </em> emotions, none of which he can do anything with. </p><p> </p><p>He has so many words to say back, but he can't let them out. It only brings him more pain, more threats.</p><p> </p><p>There is no reality where he wins. Not against Nicholas Endicott. Not against someone who owns everyone. Someone who's holding his family above his head, ready to harm them, to <em> kill </em> them, if he ever tells.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't tell. He keeps his mouth obediently shut. He lets Nicholas do what he wants, any time that he wants to, because he knows that in the end it's not worth it, that <em> he </em>isn't worth it. His life is nothing. But Gil? His mother? His sister? They mean everything. </p><p> </p><p>It's why the things Nicholas says hurt him so much. It's why he can't stop the way he sobs and begs the man not to touch them.</p><p> </p><p>It's why he gives up himself, his body, night after night, again and again, never ending. It's why, no matter how dead he becomes inside, he pleads for the man to take him instead.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas is proud of that, too.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you even remember what you were before me?” he asks. “Before you were mine?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm does, he thinks. But every day it fades a little further into his memory, gets a little foggier, feels a little more like it didn’t happen at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you, dear Malcolm?”</p><p> </p><p>He’s looking for something else to take. Malcolm won’t let him, will cling to it until it’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>So he shakes his head, closes his eyes, says, “No,” and fears that one day, far too soon, it’ll be the truth.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>x</b>
</p><p> </p><p>He's different in more ways than one, but when he's at work, around people, when he's not alone in his home, he nearly never breaks character. Aside from flinches, from shying away from anyone in his personal space even more than he used to, things he can't control, he's been incredible in his act.</p><p> </p><p>But once, just once, JT grabs him by the shoulder, surprises him, and Malcolm <em> shrieks.</em></p><p> </p><p>The precinct goes silent. Gil ducks out of his office with wide eyes. </p><p> </p><p>"What happened?" JT asks, genuine concern in eyes that search Malcolm’s suddenly trembling body over for signs that he had accidentally caused harm, and Malcolm is unable to tell him why.</p><p> </p><p>He can't tell any of them, not a single one, that he'd thought, for a moment, it was Nicholas. That he'd thought, for a moment, he was about to be thrown onto his bed and abused <em> again, </em> made to hurt <em> again, </em> ruined <em> again. </em></p><p> </p><p>He's alone in the world with a pain only he will ever know about. </p><p> </p><p>"It's nothing," he manages. "I'm fine."</p><p> </p><p>It should be normal by now. It <em> is </em>normal. He wants to stop thinking about it. It only happens at night. During the day, things should be okay, right? </p><p> </p><p>But he can't think of anything else. Every movement results in a twinge of pain that reminds him what happened last night. Every breath is a breath closer to tonight, when it'll happen again. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't want it to happen again, and yet it has to. For them all, it has to.</p><p> </p><p>He visits his father to help with their case this time, and Martin asks what he's hiding.  </p><p> </p><p>"You've been acting different," Martin tells him, and then smiles. "Have you started seeing someone?"</p><p> </p><p>It sends a shiver through Malcolm so violent that he nearly collapses. He hits the wall, the only thing keeping him on his feet, and Martin stands up.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm hates that the concern on his father's face looks so <em> real. </em></p><p> </p><p>"What's happened?" he asks, <em> demands. </em>"Malcolm, tell me what's wrong." </p><p> </p><p>He wonders, for just a second, if Martin could somehow arrange Nicholas to die. </p><p> </p><p>And then he curses at Martin. He shouts in a sudden, complete loss of temper he's never shown, and Martin takes it. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm leaves before anything can be said in reply. He threatens Martin on the phone to never return if it's ever brought up again, and Martin drops it.</p><p> </p><p>He looks at Malcolm differently, always critical, but he drops it.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm thinks of the possibilities of telling him far too many times. He imagines Nicholas's death. Him choking on his own blood, bleeding out, never touching him again.</p><p> </p><p>But he's not his father. He can't be. He <em> won’t </em>be. Just for entertaining the thought, he knows deep down this is all nothing more than what he deserves.</p><p>  </p><p>Gil touches his neck that night, just right, and he breaks, starts to cry. He hiccups out some excuse, brushes it off as stress from the case, but then Gil sits him down on his office's couch and <em> holds </em>him, and Malcolm cries harder, louder, until he's out of tears, his face buried in Gil's chest as he shakes.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to stay with Gil. Gil is <em> safe. </em>He misses being able to stay after work for a drink, or go over to Gil's house to crash for a night. He can't do any of that anymore. </p><p> </p><p>He misses <em> Gil. </em>He misses being his version of normal, before Nicholas, before his life was no longer his own.</p><p> </p><p>"It's okay, kid," Gil murmurs, rubbing his back. "I've got you. Everything's going to be okay."</p><p> </p><p>He lets himself stay here, in safety, until his phone beeps in his pocket, knowing it’s one of them reminding him about dinner tonight. He glances at the clock, and squeezes his eyes shut. </p><p> </p><p>“I have to go,” he whispers. He nuzzles Gil’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of love and home, and Gil holds him a little tighter, kisses his head, before letting him go.</p><p> </p><p>“Anytime,” Gil says, though Malcolm didn’t say anything. He just <em> knows. </em>He’s always known what Malcolm needs, what he wants.</p><p> </p><p>The fluttering warmth in his stomach is pleasant, stays until the moment he sees Nicholas as he sits across from him at the table.</p><p> </p><p>Later, in a side room, Malcolm’s phone beeps again, still in the pocket of his pants as they lay crumpled on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Little late for a case, isn’t it?” Nicholas asks, reaching out to take it as Malcolm doesn’t bother raising his head from where it rests as he lays on the couch on his stomach, trying to catch his breath.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas scoffs, shoving the phone into Malcolm’s face. "<em>You're a good man, Bright</em>," he reads aloud. "<em>Get some sleep. </em> Aw. How <em> sweet </em> that Arroyo is.”</p><p> </p><p><em> A good man. </em> Gil thinks he's <em> good</em>. That he’s worthy. Gil loves him, even if it’ll never be quite as much as Malcolm wants.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm wishes his face didn't heat up so much, and he hides it against the fabric beneath him.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, it's seen anyway. </p><p> </p><p>"Why are you red?" Nicholas asks, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. He looks Malcolm over, and Malcolm feels a sudden bolt of dread through him.</p><p> </p><p>"You little slut," Nicholas laughs suddenly. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" </p><p> </p><p>"No," Malcolm quickly tries, shaking his head, and Nicholas grabs his shoulders, flips him over and pins him down hard. </p><p> </p><p>"You are. I should have known. I’ve seen the way he touches you. Is that why you were really late all that time ago? Huh? You were bent over his desk? Was all the NYPD having a go at you?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm whimpers, "<em>Stop</em>," and Nicholas bares his teeth in a sneering grin, delighted to find another thing that hurts him. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
“I want to know! Really, dear Malcolm, tell me. Or...oh, <em> no...</em>look how sad you are! You’ve never <em> told </em>him, have you? Is that it? He doesn't know. How fucking adorable."</p><p> </p><p>He fits his hand around Malcolm's throat, preventing him from giving any response. "You're nothing but a dirty whore, Malcolm. You're <em> mine</em>. Gil would never want you if he knew what I’ve done to you. You're <em> damaged goods. </em>You know that, don't you?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut so tight it <em> hurts </em> instead of responding. It earns him one smack, and then another, until he opens them again and gasps out, "Y-<em>yes!" </em></p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," Nicholas says. "You better know. I'll never let you forget. You may as well give up that little crush, boy, because it’ll do nothing but hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You </em> do nothing but hurt me,” Malcolm mutters, flinching in anticipation of more pain, but instead of getting angry, Nicholas laughs. It’s not an insult to him. </p><p> </p><p>“And you take it so <em> pretty,</em>” he murmurs, lowering himself down over him again. “It isn’t my fault you’re so beautiful, Malcolm. I suppose you can blame God, if you believe in Him. But not me.”</p><p> </p><p>He still blames Nicholas. And he still loves Gil, will never stop. </p><p> </p><p>It's the one thing Nicholas can't take away from him, try as he might.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm loses track of how long it goes on. He becomes completely numb to it, to everything. He stops feeling anything at all. </p><p> </p><p>When they all have dinner together, he no longer flinches and fights to control his face when a hand gropes him under the table. When Jessica calls Nicholas her boyfriend, part of the family, her <em> love, </em> he doesn’t immediately need to excuse himself to the nearest toilet. He keels over in the bathroom every night, drowning in whatever happened that day and heaving up anything he tried to down, but in the moment, he can function. When Nicholas pats his backside whenever he can get away with it, priding himself on how close Jessica or Ainsley can be and still not notice, Malcolm no longer aches to scream out for them to notice, to <em> help. </em></p><p> </p><p>They're all just things that have to happen. He deals with things how he can, by dissociating from it all completely.</p><p> </p><p>He stops reacting the same way, and Nicholas doesn't like that. </p><p> </p><p>He stops reacting at all, and Nicholas won't stand for it.</p><p> </p><p>"Have I really broken you so soon?" he asks, panting into Malcolm's ear. "Is this really all you have to give me?"</p><p> </p><p>"I've given you everything," Malcolm whispers, gaze up on the ceiling above his bed, the same spot it always fixes on.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas growls, "I want <em> more.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>But Malcolm doesn't have anything else. He has scars and trauma, bruises and blood, a body and mind that Nicholas had already claimed long ago.</p><p> </p><p>"I've nothing left," he says. The words are barely audible over Nicholas's breathing. He doesn't know if he really speaks them at all. He doesn’t know anything at all anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas wraps a hand around Malcolm's neck. "I proposed tonight, Malcolm.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm chokes, and it has nearly nothing to do with the pressure. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas sneers. He leans down to bite Malcolm's ear, and grunts into it, <em> "She said yes."</em></p><p> </p><p>Malcolm didn't know how much worse he could truly feel. He didn’t know he could break again, after Nicholas has torn him to pieces a million times over, maybe more.</p><p> </p><p>But that shatters him in a different way. Pieces he’ll never find all of scatter across the floor. He opens his mouth, and the scream he tries to let out won’t come. Instead he gags, and he heaves for air, until Nicholas finally finishes and releases him. </p><p> </p><p>He cries out, but it’s weak. Nicholas’s hands are all over him again in renewed interest.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I missed so much,” he purrs. “Oh, Malcolm. You’re so beautiful when you’re sad. Cry for me, won’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm does. Malcolm wants to die.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t even think about it,” Nicholas says. Malcolm isn’t sure if he’d said the thought out loud, or if somehow Nicholas is inside his head. Neither would surprise him. </p><p> </p><p>“I’d still have no one to go to for what I need but your mother, so you’d solve nothing but for yourself. How disgusting. How selfish. You would do that to her? To Ainsley? Oh, no. You can’t die, and you won’t. You have no choice but to be mine.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm wails. He slams his fist up as Nicholas kisses him, catching him under the jaw, fights back like he hasn’t in so long, and in response Nicholas throws him to the floor and beats him. He beats him with his fists and his feet, and then with the metal clasp of his belt, and then he assaults Malcolm again.</p><p> </p><p>"You are <em> mine," </em> he says, louder than Malcolm's choked noises of pain. "There is no <em> getting away </em> from me. No one can save you, boy. Not your mommy. Not <em> Gil </em>. You're mine, forever. Till death do us part now, dearest boy.”</p><p> </p><p>He kisses Malcolm's ear, bites it, and whispers, "I guess we'll have to start working on you calling me your daddy, hmm? Since that's exactly what I'll be."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sobs. It's all he <em> can </em>do. He can't find the breath to respond, to plead, to do anything. He can barely breathe at all.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas touches over his bleeding body, cooing to him, repeating what he already knows.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Mine, forever. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And then he leaves Malcolm to cry, the words echoing in his throbbing head as he curls into himself, alone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Mine, forever. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No one can save you, boy. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No one. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Gil texts him in the morning, like he usually does. It's hours later, as Malcolm's only just starting to be able to move again, groaning as he grabs for his phone. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Morning. Hope you got some sleep. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His fingers slow, his chest aching, he replies, <em> My mother's engaged. </em></p><p> </p><p>Gil doesn't respond quickly. Malcolm wonders if he's just as surprised. </p><p> </p><p><em> That's great, </em> he finally texts back. <em> How do you feel about it? </em></p><p> </p><p>With tears streaming down his face again, broken body shaking, Malcolm at last responds,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I've never been happier.  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>/6 now...I cannot possibly write short things. I just can't. No one asked for this. However I am so so glad it's being enjoyed 🥺❤️ </p><p>Editing/adding to this chapter got away from me but I promise I have lots of comfort written for the rest of the fic! Amongst the angst, of course 😌</p><p>TW specifically for verbal threatening of animal abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wedding is scheduled within just a few weeks, and Malcolm blocks out most of the time between.</p><p> </p><p>He lets his mother be happy. He lets her dress him up in suits and pick the one she likes the best while Nicholas weighs his opinion with hers.</p><p> </p><p>"Not that one," he says. "A bit snug in the waist, I think."</p><p> </p><p>Jessica doesn't question why that's the first place he looked. She simply agrees with him, and Malcolm changes again.</p><p> </p><p>"It's really just a <em> hideous </em> color," Jessica says of the next, and Nicholas snorts. He looks Malcolm up and down, then kisses her on the lips.</p><p> </p><p>"I love a woman with taste," he murmurs, sliding a hand down her back and then waving dismissively at him with the other. "Change up, Malcolm."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm obeys his orders on instinct now, reacts to his tone of voice before he knows what he's doing most of the time. He hides himself again, gags against his palm at the sound of them giggling together and is relieved there's nothing in his stomach to come up.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to go back to the numbness he felt before Nicholas had told him they were getting married. He had <em>finally </em>settled into a state of mind that worked for him, and now it's like it's all brand new again. Nicholas making comments or looking at him or touching his mother in his view isn't something out of the ordinary. It never has been. But it hurts again, and he supposes that's what Nicholas wanted. </p><p> </p><p>It'll be permanent soon. He tries to avoid that thought right now. He just waits, awkwardly, until Jessica calls for him. </p><p> </p><p>"Is it a bit too much there?" she asks, pointing. "The embroidery?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I don't think so," Nicholas says. "Turn around, Malcolm. Let's see you." </p><p> </p><p>He hesitates. For his mother, he turns. Nicholas hums, and he tries to ignore it. He runs his fingers over the floral design at his chest, glancing down at it, and he likes it. Gil might even comment on it, tell him he looked pretty in it, touch it, touch <em> him— </em></p><p> </p><p>"I think he looks <em> perfect,</em>" Nicholas says, breaking him out of his delusions, sending a shiver of disgust through him as he puts his hands by his side again.</p><p> </p><p>"Me, too," Jessica says. "That's the one. What do you think, darling?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm forces a smile, a nod, because it doesn't <em> matter </em>what he thinks, but he doesn't like it anymore now. Not at all. </p><p> </p><p>When he lets his mother take him with Ainsley to find them both dresses, it's easier to relax. She wants to keep her outfit a surprise, so they pick a day Nicholas has already gone to work. Over lunch, Malcolm sips wine he really doesn't even like the taste of and quietly nods in agreement when it's necessary while they excitedly talk about where to go, what they think they'll want. Jessica shows them pictures of the flowers they're ordering, talks about the silverware and table decor. In the store they finally end up at, he feigns smiles and laughs along with them as they try them on for hours.</p><p> </p><p>God, he’s never seen <em> either </em> of them so <em> happy. </em>He feels selfish for not sharing it with them. </p><p> </p><p>"Take a picture, Mal!" Ainsley tells him, giving him her phone and then going to pose with Jessica, both of them in silly colorful disarray. </p><p> </p><p>He flicks on the camera app, and, for the first time in a long time of desperately avoiding his own reflection, is met with an image of himself. </p><p> </p><p>Or...no. Not him. Not who he used to be, at least. Now he doesn't recognize the gaunt man who looks back, the sunken, dark eyes that meet his own. </p><p> </p><p>Is this what Nicholas saw and wanted so badly? Or is this just what's been left in the aftermath?</p><p> </p><p>"Malcolm?" </p><p> </p><p>He looks up, blinking. Ainsley and his mother stand before him, shimmering. His knees shake, or maybe his entire body does, and then they're grasping his arms, helping him to the nearest seat.</p><p> </p><p>"My love," Jessica murmurs, but it's tainted now. He's heard her call Nicholas that too many times for it to ever make him feel anything but contempt again. She puts her hand to his forehead, frowning her concern, and says, "I knew I should have insisted you eat something."</p><p> </p><p>He's glad she didn't. Nothing there would have settled well. He can't remember the last time he's been able to keep down more than a few swigs of a protein shake, maybe a bowl or two of chicken noodle soup on his best days. But he smiles and nods, replying, "I ate this morning. I promise, Mother. Just got a bit dizzy. I'm okay now."</p><p> </p><p>"It <em> is </em> hot in here," Ainsley begins, squinting her eyes in suspicion as she scans the room.</p><p> </p><p>"Your new headline story," Malcolm says, and Ainsley scoffs, musses up his hair and then steps back.</p><p> </p><p>"He's fine. C'mere, Mom. Take the pic from there, <em> bro.</em>" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm covers the front-facing camera with his finger, switches it round, and then takes as many pictures as they want. He forces another few laughs, and pretends it doesn't hurt to sit down. He pretends the snapping sound of the camera shutter doesn't remind him of all the awful pictures Nicholas has taken of him sprawled out and vulnerable.</p><p> </p><p>And then Ainsley gets a text on her phone.</p><p> </p><p>It isn't for her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They look ravishing, don't they? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The breath is snatched from his lungs in an instant. He stands up, ignoring the way his vision tilts and spins as a result, and looks around, up into the nearest security camera and then over in the direction of the store's entrance, the glass windows that face outside.</p><p> </p><p>"Malcolm?" Ainsley's voice is barely audible over the pounding of his heart in his ears. "Mal, you okay?" </p><p> </p><p>How did Nicholas know where they were? Had Jessica told them? Ainsley? He certainly hadn't been invited. Jessica had made it perfectly clear to him that this was a secret. Had he followed them here? Watched them the whole time? </p><p> </p><p>Or just watched <em> Malcolm? </em></p><p> </p><p>"Dear," his mother says, touching her hand to his cheek. He flinches violently, making some sound in his throat as he pulls away. He's suddenly on high alert, his fear for his family making his hand shake.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you <em> looking </em>for?" Ainsley asks, and finally he turns to them again. He realizes belatedly that he must look insane.</p><p> </p><p>He <em> is. </em> There's just a <em> reason </em>for it.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm fine," he manages. "It's nothing." </p><p> </p><p>It's...he's not sure <em>what</em> it is. A threat? He's been good. He's been obedient. There's no reason for one. Then again, there's never reason for <em>any</em> of it; Nicholas just likes to watch him squirm.</p><p> </p><p>He quickly deletes the message, hands Ainsley back her phone, and spends the rest of their time there with his eyes darting around, expecting to see Nicholas.</p><p> </p><p>He never does, and that's far more frightening.</p><p> </p><p>When he dares ask for an answer, an explanation, from Nicholas later, in the moments after sex that he's sated and, sometimes, almost <em> amicable</em>, Nicholas laughs. He massages between Malcolm's shoulder blades, an action meant to do anything other than soothe, and shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know what you're talking about, my dear," he says. "I was at work all day! Weren't you?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't respond. He doesn't want to push it. Nicholas has a hair trigger temper and often breathing too loudly is more than enough to change this kind of downtime into more pain.</p><p> </p><p>So he's quiet. He's behaved. Nicholas sits propped up against the pillows beside him, on his phone with one hand, and, unless typing, keeping the other flat on Malcolm's back. His thumb moves in occasional little circles, and Malcolm can do nothing but lay still and endure, as much as he wants to escape.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't like when Nicholas stays after. It means he's thinking about wanting something else, saving up the strength to hurt him a second time, and Malcolm can only wait.</p><p> </p><p>He especially doesn't like that this kind of thing is what <em> couples </em> do. Malcolm doesn't want to be reminded of a normality he'll never have. Sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines it's Gil, though, and it becomes a bit more bearable for the few moments he can convince himself. He can think about how he would cuddle closer, and Gil would kiss his shoulders, tell him he was beautiful, wrap him in his arms, and Malcolm would be safe at last.</p><p> </p><p>But then Nicholas makes a sound, or speaks, or touches him some way he doesn't want, a way that Gil would <em>never,</em> and Malcolm is violently, <em> painfully </em> pulled back to reality—the only one he will ever have again.</p><p> </p><p>"You'll be moving home, after the wedding," Nicholas says at last. "I want both of my wives within reaching distance."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm trembles. It's not really from the title, because that's the <em> nicest </em> thing Nicholas has called him. But home? No. He <em> can't </em> go back there. Not to that house, on top of everything else. His terrors are already nearly unmanageable. He lives in a paranoid fear that Nicholas will tamper with his medications, or <em> already has, </em>filling back and forth between two different family-owned pharmacies over two different states that, as far as he can tell, Nicholas doesn't seem to work with, yet still checking every pill's imprint daily before daring to take them next to untouched affirmation cards. Nicholas takes over every fucking aspect of his life, in person and in shadow.</p><p> </p><p>And now that? Living with him all of the time? Leaving Malcolm open to abuse at any hour of the day, never safe, in the same house he'd been betrayed by his own father in? Grown up screaming his way through nightmares in? He <em> can't take </em>that. </p><p> </p><p>He's too close for Nicholas not to feel his shudder, still under his hand. Nicholas hums his delight, lightly dragging his nails down Malcolm's back, across scars and healing marks he's so proud of.</p><p> </p><p>"Hush," he says. "It's not your choice. And you'll get rid of that <em> damn bird</em>, too, because it isn't coming."</p><p> </p><p>Sunshine chirps in protest. Malcolm starts to cry in defeat.</p><p> </p><p>"Please," he whispers. "Not my birdy. I need her. I love her."</p><p> </p><p>"I know," Nicholas says, stroking his cheek. "That's why she has to go."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm cries harder. Nicholas has taken <em> everything </em> from him, but her? His beautiful Sunshine? No. <em> No. </em>He pushes Nicholas's hand away and buries his face in a pillow, and Nicholas scoffs.</p><p> </p><p>"You'll get rid of her yourself," Nicholas says, "or I will. And I won't bother with finding her a new home. What do you think would kill her quickest, hmm? Perhaps I'll put her under my boot. It <em> is </em> quite heavy. Or I could crush her in my hands. Which would be best, my dear? I'll let you choose." </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm gags, choking on tears and disgust, and shakes his head. "Please stop! Don't—"</p><p> </p><p>"Suppose I should really just get it over with now," Nicholas says. He stands up, stretching, and Malcolm shrieks, reaching out and just barely missing as he grabs Nicholas's arm, a miscalculation that probably saves him a beating.</p><p> </p><p>"No! Don't touch her! Please! Nick, I'll do anything!" </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas ignores him. He usually does. He hums a tune as he takes a few steps towards the cage, and Malcolm lunges out of bed and throws himself to the floor at Nicholas's feet.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Please!</em>" he gasps, bowing his head in submission. "Please don't. <em> Please</em>. I'll do it—I'll find her a—"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>You'll </em>do it?" Nicholas asks, and Malcolm feels his heart stop for a moment. Nicholas's hand comes to grasp at his hair as he sputters, yanking, pulling him up to his feet, and then Nicholas is dragging him across the room and shoving him back to the floor. </p><p> </p><p>His knees slam into the wood, but he hardly feels it, only able to watch as Nicholas unhooks Sunshine's cage and tosses it to him. It nearly clatters to the floor, and he only just catches it in time as Sunshine tweets loudly inside.</p><p> </p><p>"Then do it," Nicholas says, taking a seat at the island counter. "Go on. Reach in and grab her."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm can't breathe. He wails incoherent pleas, clutching the cage as Sunshine chirps louder, ruffling her feathers and shaking herself.</p><p> </p><p>And Nicholas watches. He just...<em>watches. </em> </p><p> </p><p>"Kill her, Malcolm," he says, and Malcolm shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop—can't—"</p><p> </p><p>"Is a bird really worth more to you than your family?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm finally chokes and throws up onto the floor, his entire body contracting painfully with each heave. "Ple-<em>eee</em>-ase," he moans, "I'll—I—"</p><p> </p><p>"Is it really, Malcolm? After everything? You'll throw it all away for a bird?"</p><p> </p><p>He holds the cage to his chest, sobbing,touching his baby bird's softness through the tiny bars. She's not just a bird. She's his best friend, the only one he can talk to about all of this. He can cry as much as he wants to her and all she does is nuzzle into his neck and fall asleep in his hair. </p><p> </p><p>He can't. He can't hurt her. He'd rather die.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't even know what he's saying anymore as he begs, tearing at his hair, but then Nicholas is beside him, tugging him close, forcing him into a tight hug. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm panics. From the touch, the threats—everything all in the same moment, and he tries to squirm away. "No! No, no—"</p><p> </p><p>"Shush, boy," Nicholas says, stroking fingers through his hair and pressing where his scalp stings. "You'll hurt yourself."</p><p> </p><p>He can't be quiet, though. It's not under his control. He's inconsolable, panting, "Please—please—God, d-don't—don't make me—"</p><p> </p><p>"Silly thing," Nicholas murmurs, and pinches Malcolm's lips closed between his thumb and index finger, silencing him into muffled whimpers as he tries to catch his breath through his nose. "I want you to smile in the wedding pictures so I can have them forever. How will you do that if I make you kill her tonight?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shakes hard. Nicholas releases his lips, and he gasps for air, and then Nicholas kisses him, cups his cheeks and tilts his face up. </p><p> </p><p>"Breathe, dear Malcolm. Not tonight. If you get rid of her properly before you move in, I won't have you do it at all. Will you be good for me? Hmm?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes!" He'll give her to someone for safe keeping—maybe Dani, or Ainsley, he doesn't know—<em>anyone. </em>"Just please...please…"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I know. Shush now." He holds Malcolm close, rocking him like he <em> cares </em> as Malcolm cries, unable to stop.</p><p> </p><p>Unable to pull <em> away.</em> Instead, shamefully, he clings to his abuser, fingers digging into Nicholas's arms, face pressed into his chest. It's not real comfort, not any that he <em> wants, </em> but for the moment it <em> doesn't hurt, </em> and that's all he can ask for anymore. He'd rather this side of Nicholas than the other, but he knows he'll never be good enough to keep it this way. </p><p> </p><p>"That's right," Nicholas murmurs. "Just relax. I take care of you, don't I? I keep you safe. I don't hurt you unless you make me. I'm so <em> good </em>to you, aren't I?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm nods, because he knows he has to. He wants Gil...he wants <em> Gil </em> to hold him like this, he wants <em> Gil </em>to coo to him...</p><p> </p><p>He can never have Gil. All he will ever have again is Nicholas.</p><p> </p><p>After a few more minutes, Nicholas releases him. He pulls Sunshine's cage free from Malcolm's grasp and hangs it back up. He pulls Malcolm to his feet, holding him on them as he nearly collapses. He holds up his phone and says, "Smile for me."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sniffles, exhausted, eyes so swollen he can barely open them. "Wh—what?" </p><p> </p><p>"I said," Nicholas replies, "smile for me. Practice. You don't do it enough, little one, and I need you to do it all day for the wedding. Come now. Give me your best."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm whimpers, teeth clenched, and somehow makes himself obey. Tears start to fall again, though he isn't sure how he has any left.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas <em> purrs</em>. He snaps a few pictures, then brings him close and kisses his lips and forehead. "Very good boy. So <em> pretty </em> for me. That'll do just fine."</p><p> </p><p>"Wh—what—w-why—" he chokes, clutching at Nicholas's arm, "why do you <em> hate </em> me so much?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, Malcolm," Nicholas says, kissing him gently. "You have it so very wrong. I <em> love </em> you. That's why I haven't killed you. That's why no matter how many times you disobey, I give you the chance to make it up to me. I'm a good man. And usually, you're a good boy. I tell them how good you are for me…"</p><p> </p><p>Heart thudding painfully, Malcolm whispers, "Wh—<em>who?" </em></p><p> </p><p>"My friends," Nicholas replies, and Malcolm starts to silently cry again. </p><p> </p><p>"You—you <em> tell?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I'm not like you, Malcolm," he explains, like it's the most simple, most common knowledge in the world. "I have so <em> many </em> friends I can talk to. And they're going to love meeting you at the wedding. They've heard such <em> good </em>things." </p><p> </p><p>He reaches out, cupping Malcolm's ass and pulling him closer by it.</p><p> </p><p>"And you'll be nice," he goes on, quieter, "or I'll let them have a taste. None of them are quite as nice as me, I assure you. Are we understood?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Malcolm says weakly, shivering. Nicholas easily pushes him down to his knees again, and takes another picture.</p><p> </p><p>"That's good," he says, shifting himself to the edge of the seat. "That's perfect. I'm so glad we can understand each other so <em> easily </em>now. Now...come here. My God, you look so beautiful broken..."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm closes his eyes, doesn't open them again as Nicholas grasps his head and guides it forward.</p><p> </p><p>He hears more pictures snapping, and, like always, tries to pretend he doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>Tries not to wonder just how many people Nicholas has shown them to. How many people he's <em>told </em>while Malcolm drowns in forced silence.</p><p> </p><p>Tries not to cry, and then, <em> like always,</em> cries anyway.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>x</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Ainsley never liked Nicholas. In the beginning she'd done everything she could to prove he wasn't what he pretended to be.</p><p> </p><p>Every lead fell through. Every document she thought she'd get a break with was suddenly no longer available. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas covered his tracks so well that Ainsley started to believe it was only her. </p><p> </p><p>And Malcolm couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her she was right, that Nicholas was a monster, far more than she ever knew, than any investigating could find. He couldn't encourage her to continue, because Nicholas had promised the moment she really found something would be her last.</p><p> </p><p>"She's a little too persistent, sometimes," Nicholas told him once. "I don't like that. Tell her how good I am to your mother, or there's going to be a problem."</p><p> </p><p>And he'd had to. He'd had to face Ainsley as she rambled on about another dead-end and say, "He's good to her."</p><p> </p><p>She'd gone quiet, like she never considered it. She agreed, softly, and hadn't brought it up to Malcolm nearly as often. </p><p> </p><p>Once, though, he comes as close to admission as he ever has with her.</p><p> </p><p>They're alone after dinner, Nicholas with their mother upstairs for once instead of somewhere with Malcolm. Jessica obsesses over spending her time with Nicholas, now, in her excitement for the approaching wedding. Nicholas doesn't exactly have an excuse he can deny with, so Malcolm, for a while, is safe.</p><p> </p><p>He sits beside Ainsley on the couch, both of them holding a glass of wine, and tries to focus on the television. Ainsley has one of her reports on, trying to show Malcolm some particular part she's proud of, and then suddenly the room is quiet as she pauses it.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey," she murmurs, taking his shaking hand. He blinks hard, downing the rest of his glass and setting it on the side table, and then finally manages to look at her.</p><p> </p><p>"What's going on?" </p><p> </p><p>She's asked before. They don't spend enough time together for her to really see much has changed, because he's drifted away from everyone in his fear, under Nicholas's orders. </p><p> </p><p>This time, though, he whimpers softly, and shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>"The wedding?" </p><p> </p><p>God, he wishes that was it. He <em> wishes </em>that was all that he had to care about.</p><p> </p><p>He wants Gil. He just wants<em> Gil. </em></p><p> </p><p>"It's a lot," she goes on, sighing. "Never thought it'd be <em> him,</em> out of anyone, but…I don't know." She takes a drink, leaning back. She doesn't let go of his hand, and Malcolm is grateful. "I'm just glad she's happy. She's gone through so much…I'm just glad she's not getting her heart broken again. He seems…good for her."</p><p> </p><p>"Ains," he says, as if he could ever continue. </p><p> </p><p>"As annoying as it is," she says, smiling. "I thought for a while I'd really find something, but...far as I can tell...I don't know. He's…okay. Like you said, he's good to her. And...the police never found anything either, did they? Did you?" </p><p> </p><p>"No," Malcolm rasps. "Nothing." </p><p> </p><p>"Well, then…" She raises her glass. "Mazel tov, Mother. May he be less of a serial killer than the last one." </p><p> </p><p>"Can I have a hug?" Malcolm whispers suddenly, and Ainsley turns to stare at him.</p><p> </p><p>"What? What's wrong?" </p><p> </p><p>He smiles. "Just drunk. Please?" </p><p> </p><p>She places her glass down beside his and reaches out, nodding, and he leans forward, resting his face against her shoulder as she squeezes him. </p><p> </p><p>"I miss you, Mal," she says, carding her fingers through his hair. "We don't talk anymore. Now Mom says you want to move back in. Which...doesn't sound like you at all, you know? Are you doing okay?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No. No. Say no. Please say no. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hmm," he hums instead. "Tired. Has anyone told Dad?"</p><p> </p><p>"He knows they're dating...not about the wedding. I can't even imagine how that's going to go...ugh. You're not seeing him?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not often. Only to get his help for work. We haven't...talked much, lately."</p><p> </p><p>"Weird," Ainsley says, scoffing. "Maybe Endicott being around has actually <em> helped </em>this family."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm pulls away. His head stays lowered, his eyes cast down to his lap.</p><p> </p><p>"...Malcolm?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm tired," he says. "I need to get home.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods, taking his hand between hers and patting it gently. "Alright. Goodnight, Mal. See you soon, okay? I want to...be more like a family again. Like Nick said."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm smiles, tearfully, and agrees with a nod of his own. He grabs his coat off the rack, pulls it on, and steps out into the cold night air.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't head home. He thinks about calling Gil, but...it's late, isn’t it? He's not allowed to go over. If Nicholas were to find out he disobeyed...he’ll be punished severely. And Nicholas, somehow, always finds out <em> everything. </em></p><p> </p><p>Then, after a moment's thought, he takes out his phone and calls Gil anyway. The wedding is three days away, and Malcolm should be free for the night. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Should be.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It takes three tries, but eventually Gil answers, a little breathless. "Hey, kid! Sorry, I was in the shower. What's up?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm opens his mouth, but nothing but a choked sound comes out. </p><p> </p><p>“...Bright? You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I, um…” His voice comes out far too high-pitched, and he clears his throat. “Hi. Gil. I’m, uh...aha…”</p><p> </p><p>He hiccups, giggling, and Gil sounds even more worried as he says, “Drunk. Bright, where are you? Somewhere safe?”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs outright this time, and wipes his suddenly wet cheeks. “I, um...yeah. Just headin’ home from dinner. You know what, I...I don’t know why I called, actually, I…”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you need a ride?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. No, don’t come. I’ll take a taxi.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s no problem, I can—"</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No.</em>” Nicholas would know. Somehow he would see and <em> both </em> of them would pay for it. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Gil, I <em> miss—</em>” He covers his mouth, preventing himself from continuing, and shakes his head. </p><p> </p><p>Gil sighs softly into the receiver. The sound sends a shiver up Malcolm’s spine, forces him to grab onto the fence in order to stay steady.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I miss you. I need you. I want you so much, Gil.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He squeezes his eyes shut, pulling the phone away from him to sob quietly into his palm for a moment before he finally manages to take another breath. “It’s nothing!” he whispers, but there’s not a thing in the world he could do to make it any less obvious that he’s crying. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Bright,” Gil says. “I miss you, too. Why don't you come spend the night, huh? Sleep it off, I'll fix breakfast in the morning…"</p><p> </p><p>"Pancakes?" Malcolm asks, and Gil laughs.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course. Come on, let me pick you up." </p><p> </p><p>His phone vibrates. He looks down at the screen, and fits his hand back over his lips as he reads it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I didn't say you could go home. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He whirls around, looking up. His mother's bedroom light is on, but the curtains are drawn, still.</p><p> </p><p>How the <em> fuck </em> does Nicholas keep <em> doing that? </em> How does he <em> know? </em> He knows there's a GPS tracker on his phone, because Nicholas has never been shy about his control and had installed it right in front of him, but it doesn't explain how he'd known to text Ainsley's phone the moment he was holding it, or how he'd known to look at his location <em>right now </em> when he was supposed to be with Jessica.</p><p> </p><p>As much as it hurts, aches his heart, he swallows back another sob and says, "I...I can't."</p><p> </p><p>"...No?" Gil asks, the disappointment in his voice weighing Malcolm down even more. He sighs, at the same time Malcolm struggles to take a breath in, and then says, "That's okay. Another time, right?"</p><p> </p><p>Another time. Another <em> life, </em>where Malcolm's isn't property. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," he whispers. "Sorry, Gil. I..."</p><p> </p><p>"Don't be. I'll see you tomorrow. Text me when you're home safe, huh?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. I will. Bye."</p><p> </p><p>"Bye, kid."</p><p> </p><p>He bites his lip, forces the tears back, and walks his way inside again. Ainsley is on her way out, and he nearly bumps into her, nearly tries to get another hug before he simply smiles and tells her he forgot his phone. </p><p> </p><p>"Silly. Get home safe, Mal. Love you!" She blows him a happy kiss before turning, curls falling across her shoulder as she goes down the steps.</p><p> </p><p>"Goodnight," he whispers, shutting the door. He pours himself a glass of something harsher than wine, and sits himself back on the couch in the now darkened living room. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks about the time he spent here before ten, when they were a family. Movie nights, him and Ainsley tossing popcorn at each other, falling asleep in his father's arms where it felt safest. </p><p> </p><p>Now the only place that makes him feel the same, in <em> Gil's, </em> is off-limits. And that hurts him just as much as the rest of it, perhaps more. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, the light flickers on, and he jumps, wincing as his eyes adjust back to the present. Nicholas stands in the hall in just a pair of boxers, looking too comfortable as he smirks. More tears well up in Malcolm's eyes, and he leans forward, cradling his head in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>"You're supposed to be with her," he mumbles. "I don't feel good. Please. Just let me go <em> home. </em>"</p><p> </p><p>"I can't give her all my attention, can I?" Nicholas asks, smug as ever. "And trying to leave without saying goodnight? Now, Malcolm...you know better. Come. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't move. Nicholas will hurt him for it, he knows, but his legs don't want to do anything but take him out the door and far, far away.</p><p> </p><p>"I said," Nicholas says, "<em>come, boy. </em>Or you'll regret it."</p><p> </p><p>He regrets everything, always. He regrets ever being brought into this disgusting, cruel fucking world. He wants to kill Nicholas, and then kill himself. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, of course, Malcolm obeys. He sends off a text to Gil that he's gotten home okay, drinks down the rest of his glass, and shuffles forward. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas takes his phone, reading what he sent, and smiles. </p><p> </p><p>"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asks. "Lying to him?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't reply. He doesn't need to. Everything hurts, and Nicholas knows that. He just keeps his head down, waiting for the alcohol to numb him.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas rubs his back, leads him forward, and, as he turns the light off after them, says, "Good."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>🥺❤️🥰😚😍</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, two days before the wedding, Malcolm makes the most difficult decision of his entire life. Sniffling, Sunshine curled against his neck, he dials the number for his sister, and tries to keep his voice steady when she answers bright and cheerful.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Mal! Oh, man. You know, I didn’t think being the maid of honor would be so much <em>work…</em>they should have probably made me a bridesmaid, too. Or—bridesman. Sorry. But seriously, I’m so busy…”</p><p> </p><p><em>Bridesmaid. </em>Nicholas knew what he was fucking doing. Their mother had thought it was <em>cute.</em> It isn’t cute. Nothing Nicholas does is <em>cute.</em></p><p> </p><p>He lets Ainsley go on, tuning most of it out like he has the rest of the conversations about the stupid wedding. He knows very little, like how Nicholas chose a friend of his own to be the best man when Jessica had wanted Gil. He knows, if Nicholas had his way, Gil wouldn’t be coming at all, but after Jessica had <em>pleaded</em> with him he’d agreed to keep her happy. </p><p> </p><p>He’s good at that, at least, and nothing else. </p><p> </p><p>“Ains,” Malcolm murmurs, during an odd moment of silence, and Ainsley hums, encouraging him to continue. </p><p> </p><p>“I need you to do something for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You, too? Well, I’ll try, but—”</p><p> </p><p>“I—I need you to take care of Sunshine.”</p><p> </p><p>That immediately stops her in her tracks. It’s quite possibly the most out of character thing Malcolm’s said or done since this all started, and he knows just how <em>careful </em>he has to be not to give anything away.</p><p> </p><p>"What? Sunshine? What’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm breathes in, stroking Sunshine to try and calm himself. “Nothing. Nothing, I...I just think...it would just be for a while.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you need her,” Ainsley says, and Malcolm covers his mouth. “Are you okay, Malcolm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah!” he chokes out when he can manage it, running trembling fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just, uh...I’m moving home next week. Thursday. And I just need...I need you to...it’s going to be stressful, and—”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that why you’ll need her more than ever?”</p><p> </p><p>Sunshine rubs against his ear, and he pulls the phone away to stifle a moan. Somehow, this hurts worse than anything Nicholas has done to him. He'd take any of the rest with a smile just to keep her...and now he's going to have to take it all anyways, without her to help him afterwards. His last comfort, gone.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Please,</em>” he whispers. “Just...Ainsley, please. I need you to do this for me. Please. Just this. I can’t—I love her so much, I can’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa, okay! Okay. Okay. Of course I’ll take her! Malcolm, you’re scaring me...this isn’t—you’re not trying to <em>leave,</em> are you?”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs softly. If he should only be so lucky. “<em>No.</em> It’s just...you know, I want to give them some peace, after the wedding. And you know how Mother feels about her. Really, it’s...it’s nothing. I just…”</p><p> </p><p>He nuzzles her, and she chirps quietly into the phone. Ainsley giggles at the sound and says, “Hi, Sunshine. You wanna come stay with me for a little?”</p><p> </p><p>“And—and I'll come over every day, if—ah—if you—if that's okay, if—"</p><p> </p><p>"Malcolm, you can always come over anytime you want. Mom already does...at least I'm giving you permission."</p><p> </p><p>"Endicott—" Malcolm starts, and then sighs, letting Sunshine gently nibble on his finger. "He just doesn't like her."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sure he can be convinced. Let Mom work her magic over him, dear brother, because I don't think it's failed yet."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm feels relief, for once, and knows his birdy will be safe. She won't be harmed. He won't have her anymore…but she'll be okay. </p><p> </p><p><em>Alive</em>. She'll be alive. Nicholas won't make him <em>kill</em> her.</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks, Ains. I'll let you get back to it."</p><p> </p><p>"Kisses! For both of you. Mwah!" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm smiles. The image of her <em>dead </em>flashes through his mind, dead from <em>his</em> <em>disobedience</em>, and he flinches back, covering his face.</p><p> </p><p>He suddenly wants to harm himself, <em>badly. </em>But he can't imagine the pain Nicholas would put him through for if he saw, because no part of Malcolm is safe, no part of him is <em>his own.</em> It's the only thing that's kept him from doing it this long, but it won't even matter soon. He'll be receiving more than enough pain, because Nicholas will be hurting him every day, at any time. Malcolm will be down the hall from him every single night. He'll be able to come for Malcolm at any moment. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm had thought <em>this</em> arrangement was bad. Really, he hadn't known a damn thing.</p><p> </p><p>He recovers, eventually. He kisses Sunshine again and again, takes his medicine, and goes to work.</p><p> </p><p>Mercifully, Gil doesn't ask him about yesterday's phone call. Malcolm wouldn't know how to explain, and maybe Gil doesn't know how to ask. He's likely said stranger things when drunk.</p><p> </p><p>"You're coming, right?" Malcolm asks at the end of the night, after their criminal is caught and booked and everyone's heading home.</p><p> </p><p>Gil takes a breath, shifting through files on his desk. "To the wedding?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm nods. He's drinking a half glass of whiskey, sitting crisscross on Gil's couch while Gil works, a rare night there's been no text telling him to get home, though he dreads it every moment. </p><p> </p><p>Another pause. Gil doesn't seem to really want to, but God, Malcolm <em>needs</em> him to go. He needs something there that's <em>good</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Does Endicott really want me there?" </p><p> </p><p>"No," Malcolm says quietly, and Gil snickers. "But Mother does. And Ainsley. And me."</p><p> </p><p>Gil smiles, so genuine, Malcolm's favorite sight. It makes him smile, too.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah? You do?"</p><p> </p><p>"I always want you," Malcolm breathes out without a single thought first, and Gil ducks his head. Malcolm winces, mirroring the action in embarrassment, and stutters, "At the wedding. I just...would like you to come. Please."</p><p> </p><p>Gil clears his throat. He looks uncomfortable when he lifts his head again, and Malcolm wants to disappear until Gil finally nods and says, "Yeah. Okay, kid. I'll be there."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm exhales slowly, relieved. It might be bearable, if Gil's there. Gil might even be able to protect him. If they knew a cop was there, maybe they'd all be less likely to hurt Malcolm.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas's <em>stupid</em> friends. Nicholas had told them how <em>good </em>he was, and Malcolm doesn't want to know just how many of them might want to see for themselves.</p><p> </p><p>It's a threat he hasn't had to worry about before. Nicholas has never made any move to pimp him out, had been content to own him alone. And Malcolm doesn't see him as allowing it to happen with how possessive he is, but that doesn't mean they won't try on their own.</p><p> </p><p>"You're stressed," Gil says, bringing him back. He looks down at his hand, the shakes giving him away, and he forces a little chuckle. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. I'm...fine, though."</p><p> </p><p>"Don't worry," Gil murmurs. "I've been to my fair share of weddings. They're not as bad as they sound."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," Malcolm repeats. He finishes his glass, and runs his finger along the edge of it.</p><p> </p><p>"What else is on your mind?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm grits his teeth. He shakes his head, and bites his tongue, and says, "Tired."</p><p> </p><p>Gil stands up, drawing closer, and then finally sits beside him.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm scarcely breathes. He leans, just a little, and Gil reaches out, squeezes the back of his neck, accepts Malcolm into his arms when Malcolm moves closer.</p><p> </p><p>"You're gonna be okay, kid," he says. "Things are looking up, aren't they?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm closes his eyes, breathing in, face pressed against Gil's chest.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," he replies, perfectly convincing. "Of course."</p><p> </p><p>He knows Nicholas would be proud.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The night before the wedding, at dinner, the last without Nicholas being bound to this family by marriage, Nicholas stands up. Malcolm had hardly noticed the hand settled on his inner thigh until it’s gone, and he considers that a worthy achievement. </p><p> </p><p>“I’d like to make a toast,” Nicholas says, clinking a knife on his wine glass. Jessica laughs, and looks up at him with such unconditional love that Malcolm almost smiles.</p><p> </p><p>Almost.</p><p> </p><p>“These past seven months have been the most incredible of my life,” Nicholas starts.</p><p> </p><p><em>Seven months. </em>More than half a year. </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shoves his hand under the table to let it shake without being noticed. </p><p> </p><p>“And I don’t think I could have made it here without all of you. My beautiful, soon-to-be wife, Jessie…” He winks at her, and she giggles, blushes, hides her face behind her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“And her two beautiful children.” He looks first at Ainsley, addressing her by name with a smile. “I know you were suspicious of me in the beginning, but I’ve loved nothing more than proving my love for your mother and gaining your trust. Thank you for giving me a chance.”</p><p> </p><p>Ainsley purses her lips, and finally nods, and smiles, and tilts her glass towards him. She <em>accepts</em> him, and it hurts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>They don't know. They don't know. They'll never know, you're alone, you're alone—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“And Malcolm.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm flinches. He blinks hard a few times, then looks up at his abuser. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve come to see you both as my own. Ainsley my daughter, and you my son. Thank you for allowing me into your life, into your home, and giving your mother your blessings to marry me. I’ve never been anything but good to her, and I’m glad you could see that. You know how much I care for her.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sways in the chair. He can’t look away. Nicholas’s eyes are dark, filled with mockery and menace, and no one seems to be able to see it but him. </p><p> </p><p>“All three of you mean the world to me. I can’t wait to become apart of this family forever.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Forever, forever, this is fucking forever—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He holds his glass up. Jessica does, too, then Ainsley.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn’t touch his glass. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he leans over and throws up on Nicholas’s shoes. </p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm!” Jessica gasps, and the two of them come to his side, Ainsley holding his shoulders, Jessica fanning his face. </p><p> </p><p>“My love, are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm is still looking up at Nicholas. </p><p> </p><p>And the man is smirking. He licks his lips, blows a little kiss at Malcolm while they’re distracted, and Malcolm has to go. He has to go <em>now.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Sorry—” he chokes out, swatting their hands away and standing. “I’ve got the flu or—I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, love, do you want—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No.</em>” He sidesteps them, rushes out the door, down the steps, and runs. He runs until he can’t breathe, until his lungs and chest and legs are on fire, and <em>keeps running.</em></p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t stop until his body gives way under him, sending him to the ground. He busts his lip against the concrete, and his only concern is how he knows Nicholas will punish him for it, for ruining his pretty face for their wedding day photos. </p><p> </p><p>But he doesn’t care. He hopes everything goes wrong. He hopes the ceremony burns the fuck down.</p><p> </p><p>And then he cries, because he remembers how happy Jessica is, and knows ruining that wouldn’t change anything at all.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls out his phone, dials for Gil, and then slams the device down against the concrete until it's shattered with a cry of anguish.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't trust himself not to tell right now. And he <em>can't do that.</em></p><p> </p><p>He’s trapped. Absolutely trapped.</p><p> </p><p>He curls into himself on the sidewalk, weeping, and he’s never, <em>ever</em> felt so alone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The venue overlooks Central Park, and really, it’s quite beautiful. It’s a large ballroom attached to a hotel, with crystal chandeliers at every turn, and it looks just like his mother wanted. </p><p> </p><p>She cries on the way there, because of nerves. Malcolm cries with her, for different reasons. Ainsley laughs at them both, and tells them they need to have a drink.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm has never agreed more, and he’s tipsy before they ever arrive, doesn’t plan on being anything else for the rest of the night.</p><p> </p><p>It’s nearly all Nicholas’s friends, both a way for him to stay in control and because Jessica has nearly none of her own, even now. A few of them stare at Malcolm, <em>leer</em> at him, and then Nicholas winds his arm around Malcolm's shoulders and pulls him towards a group of them, smiling. </p><p> </p><p>“This is Malcolm,” he says. “My son.”</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not—" Malcolm starts, and then Nicholas tightens his grip, squeezes him hard enough to be painful, and he shuts his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>"Son, huh?" one of them asks. "Very lucky for you."</p><p> </p><p>"Isn't it just?" Nicholas murmurs. "A picture-perfect family, aren't we? Happiest day of our lives. Isn't it, my boy?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm flinches. His lungs seize, and his heart skips, and he just doesn't <em>care</em> what the consequences are. He yanks away from Nicholas, mumbles a polite <em>excuse me</em> as he does, and then escapes before Nicholas can try and pull him back. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My boy. My boy. We're the same.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He can barely keep himself together. He certainly can't <em>pretend</em> like that in front of the people Nicholas has likely shown off Malcolm's body and <em>more</em> to.</p><p> </p><p><em>My boy</em>. <em>My son.</em></p><p> </p><p>He grabs for a glass of wine, downs it in seconds before he can be sick, and then keeps himself in the corner from then on, sipping on another, watching people arrive and shrinking whenever Nicholas passes, praying to be left alone.</p><p> </p><p>When Gil shows up in a slick black tuxedo, smiling and giving Jessica a small gift, kissing her hand, Malcolm is in awe. He looks <em>beautiful, </em>handsome and dapper in a way Malcolm hasn't seen him before. He <em>loves </em>Gil's usual sweaters. They're <em>safe.</em> But him <em>this</em> dressed up...oh, wow...<em>Gil</em>...</p><p> </p><p>He's too distracted to notice Nicholas approaching him, to in any way try to avoid it. Nicholas grabs Malcolm’s wrist and drags him stumbling to a secluded hallway, lifts him up to crush him between his body and the wall, and takes him right there.</p><p> </p><p>“Ruined your fucking face,” Nicholas growls, slapping him, and Malcolm giggles as tears run down his face. “And you’re drunk. Stupid boy. I should lock you up until the wedding’s over so you can’t embarrass me, but then your <em>mommy</em> would wonder where you are. Arroyo would probably wonder, too. That goddamn fucker. Who does he think he is, huh? Kissing her like that! That’s<em> my—fucking—wife</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm leans forward to keep his head from hitting the wall as Nicholas becomes more aggressive with him, and he doesn’t listen anymore. He just thinks about Gil, and somewhere in the haze of the trauma and a <em>lot </em>of alcohol, he thinks about Gil a little<em> too much. </em>He thinks about the way Gil looked in that suit, how he would look <em>out</em> of it, and thinks about Gil’s hands on him instead of Nicholas’s, Gil <em>inside</em> of him.</p><p> </p><p>And instead of just comfort, of relief, the image brings complete, overwhelming arousal, and Malcolm groans into Nicholas’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, dear,” Nicholas says, laughing and pushing Malcolm back to see his face. “What was that?”</p><p> </p><p>Just as every other disgusting time that Malcolm's body has betrayed him, Malcolm is humiliated, <em>frightened.</em> Nicholas always takes a special, sickening pleasure in forcing Malcolm to feel what he doesn't want to, and as Nicholas reaches down between them now, Malcolm gasps and whines in despair because it's his own damn fault.</p><p> </p><p>"My, my. Maybe I should be getting you drunk every night, if that’s what it takes for you to <em>want </em>me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want you,” Malcolm mutters. “Never wanted you.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I like to hear." Nicholas kisses him, stroking a few times, and Malcolm reacts with a long groan, screwing his eyes shut. </p><p> </p><p>"Stop," he pleads, "don't make me. Not here."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas hums. "Not here? But darling...I want you to always remember this day. How better to make sure you never forget?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm grips at Nicholas's shoulders, trying to keep himself still, but Nicholas wins even when he's sober. Now his mind tracks back to Gil, and he starts to pant and writhe, pressing his face into Nicholas's shoulder. His mouth opens unwillingly, but the fabric keeps his noises muffled.</p><p> </p><p>"Good boy," Nicholas says, as if it's his choice, as if it's <em>ever </em>his choice. Nicholas moves his hand just the way he's learned takes Malcolm apart quickest, still thrusting into him, and, despite his best efforts not to, Malcolm doesn't take long at all to spill into Nicholas's hand with a cry.</p><p> </p><p>At his mother's wedding. With his mother's soon-to-be husband.</p><p> </p><p>Her <em>husband</em>. His<em> step-father.</em> This is <em>permanent</em>. This is <em>forever. God</em>, Malcolm wants to die.</p><p> </p><p>"There we go," Nicholas coos. "Doesn't that feel better, now?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's never felt <em>worse</em> as Nicholas focuses back on his own pleasure, biting Malcolm's shoulder and kissing him, bruising his lips and reopening the scab there with a sharp nip, smearing blood onto both of their mouths and finishing with a hitched breath.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm whines, pushing at him, but it's never over until Nicholas wants it to be. He recovers for a minute, panting into Malcolm's ear, and only <em>then</em> pulls out, unceremoniously dropping Malcolm to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Clean yourself up,” he says finally, brushing his hair into place again and licking the blood away. It makes Malcolm sick to see. "Don't take too long. Oh, only a little longer before I’m your new daddy, dear Malcolm...aren’t you excited? We're going to spend so much time together. As a <em>family</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm glares up at him, and Nicholas laughs. </p><p> </p><p>“I love seeing some fire in you again. Weddings really do bring out the best in people.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm hangs his head, mostly to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. Nicholas watches him for a moment, probably to make sure he looks defeated enough for his liking, and then finally goes to rejoin the others.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm is left alone again, to cry and ache in silence.</p><p> </p><p>He has to throw out his underwear because they’re soiled. He stuffs them into the trash can of the bathroom and then buttons up his pants, fixes his shirt and his hair, washes the tear-stains from his face.</p><p> </p><p>He then breathes deep, lets out a final sob, and goes back out, because it's what he has to do.</p><p> </p><p>The guests finish arriving, and the ceremony begins. Malcolm watches his mother walk down the aisle from his place on the platform, and Ainsley holds his shaking hand.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” she whispers.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m happy,” he replies. It doesn’t answer her question, and she frowns, but he doesn’t care. There’s nothing else to be said, because this is happening, right in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>His mother puts a ring on Nicholas’s finger, and he puts one on hers. They give their vows, and it’s all surreal.</p><p> </p><p>He finds Gil in the crowd, and Gil’s eyes meet his. Gil smiles, gives him a little wave, and Malcolm sighs, momentarily comforted. He wonders if this is anything like the wedding he and Jackie had.</p><p> </p><p>And then the officiant makes it final, and they kiss.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm has managed to look away from it every other time, but this is different. This hurts far more than he wants it to, and there are tears in his eyes as he watches the same mouth that spits horrible, awful threats at him, that kisses him while he sobs and begs, meet his mother’s.</p><p> </p><p>His legs wobble, and suddenly Ainsley is holding him upright.</p><p> </p><p>“How much did you drink?” she asks, lighthearted.</p><p> </p><p>“Not enough,” he says. And once the cheering is done, once the pictures have been taken and Malcolm smiles like he's supposed to, like a <em>good boy</em>, like someone who doesn't deserve punishment <em>please, </em>the guests go on to party, and Malcolm quickly remedies that. </p><p> </p><p>He downs two drinks before the first ever hits him, then starts on a third. The songs drown together, lights swirling as he hums along. He plops down at one of the tables, relaxing inch by agonizing inch as the alcohol takes effect, and watches as Gil and his mother talk on the floor amongst the others. </p><p> </p><p>Jessica tosses her head back in a laugh at something Gil said, and then places her hands on Gil's shoulder and arm, pulling him as he fumbles into a dance.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm can't imagine what Nicholas is going to do to him for that. Gil had barely touched her before, and now his hands are on her hips. He can't <em>see </em>Nicholas, but he knows the man's watching. Of course he is. He always, somehow, is.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's mind wanders, and he thinks about how it would feel to dance with Gil. A slow song comes on, and he smiles as he hums to it, closing his eyes, imagining Gil's arms around him as they sway. They fit so perfectly…maybe Malcolm could even lean up for a kiss...maybe Gil would even kiss him back…</p><p> </p><p>There are hands on his shoulders, then, rubbing, and he flinches back into reality and ducks his head. "I'm sorry," he chokes. For drinking, for thinking of Gil, for everything Nicholas wants him to feel guilty for. </p><p> </p><p>"Kid?"</p><p> </p><p>A familiar body sinks into the chair beside him, and Malcolm blinks hard, looking up at Gil through bleary vision. A smile settles on his lips, just drunk enough to forget the pain in the presence of the only man he's ever loved. "Hi…"</p><p> </p><p>"What are you sorry for?” Gil asks, genuinely curious, but Malcolm ignores him. He takes Gil's hand, pulls it between them beside the table, hiding it from view of wherever Nicholas is. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh," Gil murmurs, looking down as Malcolm hums while he gently touches each finger. "Had enough to drink?" </p><p> </p><p>"Not even close," Malcolm says, finally looking up at him. "We could...we could dance, Gil."</p><p> </p><p>Gil smiles, almost shyly as he tilts his head down. Malcolm can't understand why he would be embarrassed at the thought. It's not like it matters what Malcolm <em>could </em>do. He <em>could</em> scream out about Nicholas, right now. He <em>could </em>lean over and kiss Gil breathless. Neither things are going to happen.</p><p> </p><p>"But...we can't," he goes on. "You know? We just can't."</p><p> </p><p>"We could," Gil says, reaching up to rub the back of his own neck, and Malcolm leans a little closer, hoping he'll do the same to his.</p><p> </p><p>And then he remembers they're not somewhere safe. They're somewhere full of Nicholas's friends, where, if Nicholas doesn't see himself, he will have dozens of people who will tell him.</p><p> </p><p>He can't be comforted here. And that makes him want to cry. He's not sure what doesn't anymore.</p><p> </p><p>"We <em>can't,</em>" he says, and then stands up. "You make me think things, Gil. Thinking hurts."</p><p> </p><p>Gil looks more than a little confused, opening his mouth to respond, to ask questions Malcolm can't answer, and so Malcolm simply turns and leaves before he can. Avoidance is always easier.</p><p> </p><p>The next time someone's hands are on his shoulders, it isn't Gil. </p><p> </p><p>"You smiled so pretty," Nicholas murmurs into his ear. "Good boy. I can't wait to have those pictures framed. You'll see them every time you walk down the stairs."</p><p> </p><p>Mercifully, Malcolm doesn't care right now as much as he should. He finishes his drink, and Nicholas takes the glass from him.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop drinking. Go splash water on your face. You're practically falling over."</p><p> </p><p>"You gonna come, too?" Malcolm asks, and Nicholas snickers.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't tempt me. And stay away from Gil, or we're going to have a problem."</p><p> </p><p>"We always have a problem," Malcolm mutters, unthinking. "Always a...goddamn problem. Always something."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas leans closer, and Malcolm turns his head to the side. Nicholas isn’t stupid enough to do <em>too</em> much to him in such a public setting, but to anyone else he’s sure this looks like Nicholas trying to be sure Malcolm hears him over the music, because he’s a <em>good man</em> who would <em>never </em>hurt anyone, especially his new step-son.</p><p> </p><p>"I know my little whore is drunk," Nicholas says, "so I'm going to let that slide. But don't keep pushing me. You<em> know</em> mommy's going to be extra vulnerable tonight, the way she's downing drinks…"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry.<em> Please </em>don't." </p><p> </p><p>"That's better. Now…go wash your face. Come back a little clearer. Then, you're going to walk right out on the floor, and you're going to dance with your mother while I dance with your <em>beautiful</em> sister."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's legs nearly give out, and he grabs at the nearest table. "Don't. Don't touch...I'll…"</p><p> </p><p>"Shh. I wouldn't do a thing to her here, would I? Trust me, darling boy. But you'll smile, and you'll prove to everyone just how happy you are, or I will. Understood?" </p><p> </p><p>"I <em>hate you," </em>Malcolm hisses, and Nicholas squeezes his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>"That's always so <em>good </em>to hear." </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm grabs for another drink off the nearest waiter's tray, and chugs it down before Nicholas can do anything about it. Nicholas scoffs, orders him to the bathroom again, and then pushes him gently.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm stumbles forward. There's nothing he can do except obey. He spends a good five minutes with his head buried in the toilet, and then washes out his mouth before returning.</p><p> </p><p>His mother isn't fooled. She cups under his chin as he approaches and tsks. "Having a little too much fun, love?" </p><p> </p><p>"Just enough," he says, looking around. "Gil's...still here, isn't he?" </p><p> </p><p>"Somewhere, I'm sure," Jessica replies, taking his hand. "This is about <em>us, </em>love. Come. Time to dance."</p><p> </p><p>One song. He can do one song. Just one.</p><p> </p><p>It's too slow, though. Ainsley is <em>too close </em>to Nicholas, and his hands are <em>too low</em>, clasped at the small of her back where her dress has a hole. He leans over, whispering into her ear, and Malcolm watches them over Jessica's shoulder, suddenly wondering what would happen if <em>Ainsley</em> were the one to say something. If she felt uncomfortable, if she accused him of groping, if Jessica saw Nicholas touching her, unlike she had with Malcolm, and left him of her own accord. </p><p> </p><p>What would Nicholas do? It wouldn't be Malcolm's fault, then. Maybe, <em>maybe—</em></p><p> </p><p>Ainsley throws her head back and laughs. Nicholas smirks, eyes darting briefly to Malcolm, before he shakes his head and says something that makes Ainsley laugh <em>again.</em></p><p> </p><p>And Malcolm's hope crumbles. <em>He </em>nearly crumbles, gripping tightly to his mother's shoulders and whimpering softly.</p><p> </p><p>"Malcolm?" she asks, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek, and he shakes himself.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing's changed. It's all still exactly how it was. It's his own fault for ever believing it could be over so simply. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm okay, Mother," he says, smiling. "I'm just drunk."</p><p> </p><p>She kisses his forehead, and he leans to rest his cheek on her shoulder. She never held him as a child...not after his father was arrested. This is the most she's touched him, and it lulls him.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to go back. He just wants to go <em>back</em>. He has few memories of that time, but they're all so perfect, all so <em>simple. </em></p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry," he finds himself whispering, and his mother squeezes him. </p><p> </p><p>"Nothing to apologize for, love. Let's be happy, now, hmm? We deserve it."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm closes his eyes. By the time the song ends, he's half-asleep, and she has to rub his back to rouse him.</p><p> </p><p>It hurts. It stings, the scrape of his suit on healing wounds, and he flinches, jerks back. </p><p> </p><p>"Malcolm?" She reaches for him, and he smiles, putting his hands out, stepping away.</p><p> </p><p>"It's fine—I'm fine. All fine. Just…drunk."</p><p><br/>
She looks unconvinced, but before she can say anything else, he turns away, grasping Ainsley's arm before she can disappear again.</p><p> </p><p>"You're okay?" Malcolm asks, and she giggles.</p><p> </p><p>"Tipsy. But perfect, Mal. He's funny, you know that? How're you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Perfect," Malcolm agrees, closer to tears every second he isn't drinking more, and makes his way back to the bar.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas is proud of him. Malcolm <em>knows </em>he is. </p><p> </p><p>He downs two more flutes of champagne and is reaching for a third when Gil is suddenly at his side, grasping his arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa there, kid,” he laughs, “take it easy on the celebrating, huh? You’re gonna have one hell of a hangover.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t,” Malcolm says. “I can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil’s grin falls away. His brows knit together in concern, and he takes Malcolm’s other hand as it shakes violently. </p><p> </p><p>“Bright, what’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>can’t,</em>” Malcolm says again, closer and closer to tears every second, and Gil looks around before gently leading Malcolm away from the others.</p><p> </p><p>“Come here, come here.” He winds them through the guests and tables, finally out into a hall where they’re alone, and then he grasps the back of Malcolm’s neck. </p><p> </p><p>“Talk to me, Malcolm. What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>He presses his fingers down just right, the same way he always has, and Malcolm looks up at him.  </p><p> </p><p>If only he knew. If only Malcolm could <em>tell him.</em></p><p> </p><p>God, he just wants to tell someone. It hurts so <em>much</em>. It’s eating him alive and he can’t do it anymore, and he has to do it <em>forever.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm,” Gil says. So soft, so gentle.   </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm kisses him. He doesn’t know what else to do. He rocks up on his toes and crushes his lips against Gil’s, cupping his cheeks and pulling him forward.</p><p> </p><p>“Wh—Mal—” Gil’s words are muffled, and Malcolm follows him as he stumbles back, desperate, licking at Gil’s mouth and whimpering softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm, <em>stop!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Malcolm lets go. He lets his hands drop, and lets Gil jump away, and he knows he’s ruined everything. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe that’s what he wanted. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s what <em>Nicholas </em>wanted, and Malcolm’s finally given in to helping destroy every last part of himself.</p><p> </p><p>He hits the wall, leaning against it. Gil has his hand over his mouth, staring at Malcolm in horror, and Malcolm giggles, sliding down to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa, okay, um—” Gil says, swiping his palm a few times over his beard. “Okay. Okay. Wow, you’re—you’re drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Malcolm replies, and then giggles again. “Well, <em>yes.</em> I’m...I’m very...but I want...you. I want...I’ve always wanted.” He tries to reach up, but his arm is simply too heavy.</p><p> </p><p>Gil takes another few moments to think, and then crouches down beside him. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re upset about your mother getting married,” he says. “You’re acting out.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm scoffs. That’s what Gil thinks that was? Him throwing a temper tantrum?  </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not upset,” he says. “Why would I be? Mom’s happy. She’s happy. Why—” He sobs softly. He tries his very hardest not to break down, but it’s difficult even when he isn’t wasted. “Why can’t I be happy, Gil?”</p><p> </p><p>“You—you think you’d be happy with <em>me?</em>” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m only ever happy with you,” Malcolm says, and then finally starts to cry, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, God, Gil—Gil, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I—please don’t leave me. Please don’t go. Please, I’m sorry. You can’t go. You’re all I want. You’re all I have. Please, Gil, don’t hate me!"</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Malcolm,” Gil says. He sits down beside him, and brings Malcolm into his arms. Malcolm shudders, clinging to him, and Gil strokes his hair. “Ssh. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Not ever. Please, you have to talk to me. You <em>have </em>to.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm wants to scream the truth. It's never hurt so <em>much. </em>“I can’t. I can’t. You can’t know. No one can know.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Know what, Malcolm?” Gil asks, squeezing him gently, and Malcolm can’t respond. “Malcolm, please—know what? What’s wrong?” </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shakes his head. He cries into Gil’s shoulder, and Gil lets him. He soothes him gently, cooing to him, rubbing his back. He tells Malcolm it’s okay when he doesn't know it never will be again.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, Malcolm runs out of tears. He doesn’t pull away, and thankfully Gil doesn’t let go.</p><p> </p><p>They stay like that, in silence, for a long time, the sound of the wedding’s music in the distance. Nicholas wouldn't hurt him when Gil's by his side. None of his friends will, either. He's safe. Gil's here, and he's safe. Finally...finally safe...</p><p> </p><p>“I lo...I love you," Malcolm finally slurs out. “Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be sorry,” Gil murmurs, and then takes a breath. “I…”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm blinks. He separates them because he <em>has </em>to see Gil’s face, and he finds Gil can’t even meet his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Y...you <em>what?</em>” he manages, and feels somehow drunker than he did before.</p><p> </p><p>Gil shifts in clear discomfort. “Bright…” He looks so much like he wants to continue, but then he shakes his head. “I’ve had a few drinks, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm swallows. There’s something stronger, something deeper in Gil’s expression, in his eyes, and Malcolm looks at Gil’s face and reads everything he needs to know. </p><p> </p><p>Everything he needs to smile, just barely.</p><p> </p><p>“You do?” he asks. </p><p> </p><p>Gil <em>flinches.</em> He groans, his shoulders hunching up, and then he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, hell, Bright...look, come on...this isn’t...this is your mother’s wedding, I can’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“But you want to,” Malcolm says. “Don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Profile me again, Bright, I swear to God.” He sounds irritated, but there’s no real threat behind the words. There’s a bit of fear, and nothing else.</p><p> </p><p>Gil loves him, too.</p><p> </p><p>“Gil,” Malcolm murmurs. There’s something about it all that makes him feel like he can forget the bad, like for a moment it really <em>is </em>okay. He runs his fingers along the back of Gil’s hand, and looks up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Oh, <em>Gil</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Gil says, squeezing his shut. “Don’t look at me like that, kid.” And when he opens them and Malcolm hasn’t moved, he groans again. “Christ...what are you doing to me, huh? You’re—you’re my—look, I can’t even <em>get </em>into all the <em>wrong </em>of this, you—”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to go,” Malcolm interrupts, and Gil freezes like he’s been caught doing something wrong. “Please.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh...w-where?”</p><p> </p><p>“With you. Anywhere with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I...I can drive you home.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Malcolm grabs onto his arm and shakes his head. “No. Please—<em>please</em> don’t take me there. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil looks so confused. He has no idea the horrors that have gone on there, under all of their noses. Malcolm would never want to tell him.</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm...I don’t think...oh, hell.” He holds Malcolm steady, and likely himself, too. “I can—I can take you to my place, but—but it’s to sleep. Okay? Nothing is—” He sighs, exasperated with his own failure to find the right words. “Nothing can happen. I’m not—you’re drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Malcolm says, nodding his agreement. “I just want to be safe tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil frowns. Malcolm knows that was too much to let out, and he’s afraid Gil is going to pry for more information. This drunk, he’s not sure how much he’s going to be able to hold back.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, Gil nods. “Okay. Alright. I have to tell your mother.”</p><p> </p><p>“She has him,” Malcolm says. “I’ll text. Please, Gil. Don’t...leave me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re scared…” Gil whispers, almost to himself, and then he tucks one arm behind Malcolm’s back, one under his knees, and lifts him up. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Malcolm...you weigh <em>nothing</em>…"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm tucks his head into the crook of Gil’s neck and ignores him. Gil says stupid things. Gil should kiss him and shut up.</p><p> </p><p>All the alcohol really kicks in. He starts blacking out for chunks of time. He’s in Gil’s arms, and then he’s in Gil’s car, and then Gil is carrying him into his house, into his old room.</p><p> </p><p>Gentle fingers fasten old restraints around his wrists, always there just in case he comes to Gil’s. He moans, because it’s different than it used to be. Now he thinks about Gil doing other things to him in these straps.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t,” he hears Gil mutter, and he giggles. </p><p> </p><p>It dies when Gil suddenly has his arm in his hand, staring down at his wrist and gasping, “What <em>happened?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn’t know when Gil stripped his jacket and bowtie off, but the cuff of his sleeve has ridden up, showing the healing wounds from the last time Nicholas had taken a cigar to him and scars from times before that.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Malcolm—</em>” Gil says, heartbroken, and Malcolm knows Gil thinks he did it to himself. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t—” Malcolm starts, and then Gil looks even <em>more </em>terrified.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Bright—who—this is from <em>you?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>There are tears in Malcolm’s eyes again. He can’t hold them back. “Please,” he whispers. </p><p> </p><p>Gil doesn’t listen. “Bright...is it because of him? Because of the wedding? I’m—I’m so sorry, kid, I didn’t know you were—”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t know,” Malcolm agrees. “You didn’t. No one does. No one. No one, no one, <em>no one.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Gil grasps his hand tightly. “Know <em>what?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm tugs on it. “Get the fuck—get off me. Let me go. I need to go—”</p><p> </p><p>Go home? Go back to Nicholas? Christ, what was the man going to do to him for running off from the wedding? And with <em>Gil</em> of all people? Malcolm's going to <em>hurt </em>for this<em>...</em>he doesn't <em>want </em>to hurt anymore...</p><p> </p><p>Gil undoes his restraints, and Malcolm means to get up, but instead he just grabs onto Gil, wraps his arms around his neck and topples Gil over onto him. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Bright,”</em> Gil hisses, struggling to pull himself away without being too rough. “I told you—”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm <em>sobs,</em> and Gil goes quiet. He hardly seems to breathe, hovering over him, the heat of his body making Malcolm feel so wonderfully warm inside.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Gil. Please, I don’t—I don’t want that. I just—I just—please hold me. I want you to hold me. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil softens. His defensive demeanor changes. He slides down onto his side, wraps his arms around Malcolm, and pulls him tight against his chest as Malcolm whimpers. </p><p> </p><p>“Like this?” Gil asks, and Malcolm nods. He nuzzles into Gil’s chest, and Gil presses his face down against his hair.</p><p><br/>
“God, Gil, <em>yes</em>. Please. <em>Please</em>. Don’t let go. Not ever.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil kisses his head, breathes in deeply. “I’ve got you, kid," he whispers. "I do. You’re safe. I promise, you're safe.”</p><p> </p><p>Safe. He's <em>safe.</em> Just for now, just temporary, but still finally, <em>finally</em> <em>safe.</em></p><p> </p><p>Malcolm cries until he's out of tears, and then, cradled and secure, knowing <em>no one</em> can hurt him as long as he's in Gil's arms, he falls into the first deep, sound sleep he's had since this nightmare began all that time ago.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW specifically for physical abuse and violence.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He wakes up sore, with little memory, and very sick to his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>There's someone beside him, someone's arms around him. He flinches, believing it to be Nicholas, starts to curl into himself and plead before suddenly his favorite voice is shushing him, soothing him, telling him it’s okay as warm, familiar arms hold him tighter.</p><p> </p><p>It's not that monster, the nightmare that haunts his every move, his every breath. Instead, <em> Gil </em> is with him. Malcolm had been convinced that part was a rare, beautiful dream. He tilts his head up to look, and tired eyes meet his own.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Gil murmurs, voice rough from sleep, and Malcolm tries not to let the sound go to places it shouldn't.</p><p> </p><p>“My head hurts,” Malcolm says, pressing his face back into its rightful place against Gil’s neck, and Gil laughs. Malcolm feels it vibrate through Gil’s chest and into his own, and he wants to forever and always be this close.</p><p> </p><p>“I vividly remember warning you of that. And you didn’t text your mom, you know. Your phone was buzzing all night. I called her to tell her you were safe, though."</p><p> </p><p>The pleasant, fuzzy feeling in his heart is quickly replaced with fear as Malcolm scrabbles for his phone, finding his pocket empty and panicking. “Where’s my—”</p><p> </p><p>Gil reaches over him, grabbing it from the side table, and Malcolm breathes a sigh of relief. He has a passcode, so Gil hadn’t been able to see the content of any of the <em> forty-seven </em> new text messages he's received, but Malcolm knows who they're from, and he knows they don't say anything good. </p><p> </p><p>“You...told her I was here?” he asks quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah...why wouldn’t I have?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm groans, low and pained. Nicholas knows. He knows Malcolm left the wedding without permission, <em> with Gil</em>, after being explicitly ordered to stay away from him. He curls into himself, already able to picture all the pain he's in for, and helplessly whines, “Oh, God...ah...I’m gonna puke…"</p><p> </p><p>Gil grunts, easily lifting him up and carrying him into the bathroom before he can bother trying to get there himself. Malcolm slumps to his knees in front of the toilet, and laughs, a bit hysterically.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s funny?”</p><p> </p><p>“Usually do this at night,” he says, and immediately wishes he hadn't. </p><p> </p><p>Gil braces himself on the sink with both hands, breathing in slowly. “You're making yourself sick again."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm waves his hand, shaking his head and then grimacing when the motion worsens his nausea. “<em>No</em>. I'm not...that's not what I meant."</p><p> </p><p>Gil clearly doesn't believe him. Malcolm wishes a relapse is all he had to deal with.</p><p> </p><p>"No? Malcolm, you look terrible. You're skin and bones. I should have known. I—I trusted you, trusted you'd <em> come </em>to me—"</p><p> </p><p>"Gil," Malcolm interrupts, because he can't do this, not right now. "Please. I'm not...it's not on purpose. I didn’t mean...I just...I haven't felt good, okay?"</p><p> </p><p>Gil crouches down, feels his forehead, and Malcolm leans into the coolness of his palm. He never wants Gil to stop touching him…he wants these beautiful fingers, perfectly calloused from work, to touch <em> everywhere... </em></p><p> </p><p>"How long? Have you been to the doctor?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sighs, heavy as the weight on his shoulders. "It's <em> nothing. </em>You just...you wouldn’t understand, Gil, please..."</p><p> </p><p>“Then <em> make </em> me understand. Please!"</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t.” Malcolm closes his eyes, rubbing his face against his arm. His mouth waters, and he whimpers, hunching over a little further. “I just—I just can’t…"</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” </p><p> </p><p>“I just can’t, Gil! What do you want from me?”</p><p> </p><p>Gil takes Malcolm's shaking hand, squeezing it. “The truth, Bright. Please. <em> Please </em> tell me the truth."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm can't give him the truth. He doesn't know what else to do. As painful as it is, he knows he has to bear this alone. For Gil’s own safety, for his mother’s, for Ainsley’s. Malcolm’s comfort isn’t worth anywhere near as much as that, and he won’t trade for it.</p><p> </p><p>He can survive. He can work. He can go on. He knows he can. He's been doing it for seven months. </p><p> </p><p>Only forever to go. </p><p> </p><p>"What happened?" Gil asks, even quieter. "On your arm?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm wants to fucking <em> scream</em>. He wants Gil to hold him and tell him he'll make it stop, that he'll put Nicholas away forever, that he'll <em> save him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But Gil won't, because Gil can't.</p><p> </p><p>"I did it," he finally whispers. "I did it to myself."</p><p> </p><p>Gil can't speak again before Malcolm is retching into the bowl. Gil exhales harsh through his nose and sits beside him, supports him, holds his hair out of his face and rubs his back. </p><p> </p><p>"I’ve got you, kid. You're okay."</p><p> </p><p>In between painful heaves, Malcolm can almost picture Gil leaning to kiss his shoulder, his neck, pressing soft lips to feverish skin and whispering sweet nothings until he feels okay again. He can almost picture that they wake up together like that every morning, that he opens his eyes to kiss Gil on the lips, to nuzzle their noses together, to unlatch his restraints and wrap his arms around his lover.</p><p> </p><p>He can imagine being safe. Being held. Being <em> okay. Happy. </em>Finally, finally happy.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally stops, soaked with sweat, Gil brings him back to bed. He places a wastebasket with a clean bag by the bed, and pulls the blankets up over Malcolm's trembling body. Malcolm wonders if it’s too much to ask him to lay down with him again, just for a while longer.</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't know," Gil says before he can. He sits beside Malcolm and holds his hand again, squeezing it gently. "I didn't know you were struggling, Bright. Not like this. Not this bad. You promised you'd come to me…" </p><p> </p><p>"I know," Malcolm mumbles, closing his eyes to stop having to see the disappointment and sorrow on Gil’s face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Gil, I...I didn't...please, don't be mad."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm still not mad. I'm worried. I've been worried so long, kid.” He places his other hand on top of Malcolm’s, rubbing it gently. “You’re so cold,” he says, so quietly Malcolm isn’t sure he meant for Malcolm to hear, and then, a bit louder, “It's...because of him?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm quickly shakes his head, then shrugs one shoulder. His hand trembles between Gil’s. "I...I don't know. Maybe. I—I don't want to talk about it."</p><p> </p><p>"We have to."</p><p> </p><p>"We don't. I'm <em> fine. </em> I'd rather talk about last night." Malcolm props himself up best he can, and Gil looks away again in shame.</p><p> </p><p>"I was drunk," he says after a moment, and Malcolm scoffs.</p><p> </p><p>"You were not. You drove me home, and I know you never would have done that if you'd been drinking. You'd never put my life at risk."</p><p> </p><p>Gil winces, a confirmation. "Damn, kid," he mumbles. He takes a breath, heaving it out, and takes a long moment before finally responding, "What do you want me to say?"</p><p> </p><p>"I want the truth."</p><p> </p><p>"It's not more important than this,” he says, releasing Malcolm’s hand to pointedly tug on Malcolm’s sleeve. “You’re burning yourself. Are you...are you doing more than that?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sniffles. He's lucky Gil didn't see a scar he couldn't excuse away. He thinks about all the ones he could never show, that Gil would be <em> disgusted </em> upon discovering. His back, chest, thighs…the amount of times Nicholas has tortured him, <em> ruined him, </em> both inside and out…it's nothing anyone would ever want to see. "<em>No. </em> I'm not. P-promise."</p><p> </p><p>Gil lowers his head, closing his eyes and cursing softly. “I should have known. You've been acting off ever since Jess started dating him. And the wedding...it was so <em> soon</em>...I should have realized it was stressing you out...I should have never <em> believed </em> you were okay. I <em> knew </em>something was wrong…”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm bites his lip to keep it from trembling as his throat burns. Gil is so <em> close </em> to the truth. He has everything but the details Malcolm is too terrified to give. He wonders just how much he’d have to say to get Gil to connect it all together, to concoct his own demise.</p><p> </p><p>The words are on the tip of his tongue, like they so often are. Three words. The most awful ones he could never say.</p><p> </p><p>"He…" </p><p> </p><p>Gil looks at him desperately.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hurts me. He hurts me. Please, Gil, help me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm smiles sadly.</p><p> </p><p>"He loves my mom," he says. "Everything is fine."</p><p> </p><p>But he cries again, anyway, and Gil scoots closer, wrapping him tight in his arms. Malcolm can't believe Gil has put up with it as long as he has, as many times as Malcolm cries these days. But he never looks annoyed. He never looks fed up. He always holds Malcolm just the same, every time, because last night, however drunk, Malcolm had read him perfectly clear. Gil <em> loves </em>him. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, Bright…" Gil whispers when Malcolm's gone a little quieter. "I'm so sorry…"</p><p> </p><p>"Please...just…" Malcolm leans up and kisses his cheek. Gil doesn't move, doesn't react, and so Malcolm dares to kiss a little closer to his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>"Kid," Gil says.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's eyes burn. "Why not?"</p><p> </p><p>Gil takes his hand, and Malcolm slides his fingers between Gil’s, intertwining them. "It's just...not right, okay? I've known you since you were ten. Jackie and I <em> raised </em>you."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm an adult," Malcolm says. "I'm <em> thirty</em>. I'm sober, and I can make my own decisions. And fuck, Gil, I've...I've wanted you for years. So many years…"</p><p> </p><p>"Jesus," Gil mumbles, pulling away. "Oh, kid, don't tell me that. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I did to—"</p><p> </p><p>"I just <em> love </em> you," Malcolm says. "There doesn't have to be a why. But I can list a hundred things if you want me to. Your kindness. Your smile. Your eyes. Gil, your eyes...fuck. I—I look at them and I'm <em> home</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Gil looks away at that. Malcolm reaches up to cup his cheek, and he flinches like he hadn’t expected Malcolm’s touch, or that it’s something <em> wrong. </em>Like he can feel the filth covering Malcolm’s body, can sense he’s something disgusting now no matter how many times he tries to wash himself clean.</p><p> </p><p>"You love me, too," Malcolm goes on, risking everything because he <em> needs this. </em> "You're afraid of the consequences, but—"</p><p> </p><p>"You can't tell anyone," Gil interrupts, standing up, and Malcolm wobbles, set off-balance by the sudden loss of support. "You have to leave this alone, Bright. I’m not—nothing can <em> ever </em> happen between us, do you understand?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm stares up at him, mouth hanging open. No...no, no. <em> No</em>. "Gil...please…we can talk, I—”</p><p> </p><p>"No." Gil backs away, holding his hands out, putting more and more horrible distance between them as he talks. "You should—I have to get ready for work. I'll drop you off on the way."</p><p> </p><p>“No, wait—” This <em> can't </em> be how it goes. This isn’t how he’d thought it would—no, <em> no, </em>this can't be the last time they talk about it! "Gil!"</p><p> </p><p>But he's already gone, shutting the door, leaving Malcolm alone.</p><p> </p><p>Alone, he’s alone, he’s so fucking <em> alone... </em></p><p> </p><p>"Fuck," he mumbles, grabbing at his hair with both hands and pulling hard. "Fuck, fuck, <em> fuck</em>." </p><p> </p><p>Of <em> course </em> Gil doesn't want him. He’s <em> damaged goods. </em>Nobody will ever want him again now that Nicholas has ruined him. </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas will be the only person who ever touches him again, won't he?</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my God,” he groans, leaning over the wastebasket and retching bile into it. “Oh God, fuck, fuck, please, I can’t...I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Gil…”</p><p> </p><p>He touches his phone, running his finger over the screen. He wipes his mouth, wipes the tears from his face, and then numbly stands. He pulls on his coat, his shoes, and then walks straight out Gil’s front door, ignoring Gil's voice.</p><p> </p><p>"Wait! Malcolm, I can—"</p><p> </p><p>"Don't fucking bother." He doesn't mean it to come out so venomously, but it’s not like it matters. Gil doesn’t want to be with him. Gil can't save him. Gil <em> probably </em>won't even hold him anymore, now, because Malcolm took a chance he never should have dared to.</p><p> </p><p>His one last comfort, gone. He's better at hurting himself than Nicholas is. Gil calls his name again, but Malcolm keeps walking, doesn't look back. </p><p> </p><p>He's feeling dangerous. Self-destructive. He knows Nicholas is going to hurt him, and he wants it to happen <em> now </em> . He wants Nicholas to beat him into the fucking floor, because it's what he deserves. It's what he <em> needs.</em></p><p> </p><p>He ruined his chances. Maybe if he hadn't been drunk, maybe if he hadn’t kissed Gil at his own mother's fucking wedding where Gil was probably thinking about his <em> dead wife</em>, things could have been okay.</p><p> </p><p>But they're not, and they won't be. It's completely over. </p><p> </p><p>He flicks through the text messages on the taxi ride home. They’re just as vile and angry as he’d expected, only getting worse, more threatening as the night went on. Most of them are just single-worded insults, demands he reply, but more than a few make him start to breathe harder.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <em> 7:14pm </em>
  <br/>
  <em> Where are you, my sweetest, most dearest boy? </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> 7:36pm </em> <em><br/></em> <em> You better get your ass back here before I beat the shit out of it. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> 7:42pm </em> <em><br/></em> <em> I’m going to let everyone I work with run a train on you, I swear to GOD. Is that what you want? </em></p><p> </p><p><em> 8:01pm </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Hello??? </em></p><p> </p><p><em> 8:12pm </em> <em><br/></em> <em> You’ve got thirty minutes to get back here or I’m going to drown you in a fucking toilet. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> 8:29pm </em> <em><br/></em> <em> He’s gone, too. You’re with him, aren't you?  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> 9:53pm </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Are you ignoring these, whore? Or are you just too busy sucking Arroyo's tiny cock?  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> 11:20pm </em> <em><br/></em> <em> ANSWER. YOUR. PHONE.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> 12:52am </em> <em><br/></em> <em> I'm going to put you in the hospital and fuck your sister while you’re gone, you filthy fucking BITCH! </em></p><p> </p><p>Sweat prickles the back of his neck as he deletes them all, switching hands when his right starts shaking too hard to be functional. He's never done something like this, made Nicholas <em> this angry </em>before...  </p><p> </p><p>But last night...falling asleep in Gil's arms, so wonderfully warm and safe and <em> loved… </em></p><p> </p><p>He buries his face in his hands. It isn’t worth Ainsley. It isn’t worth it. It <em> wasn’t</em>. He’s so selfish, he’s...he’s so...</p><p> </p><p>Why won't someone just <em> love </em> him? He just wants to be held. He just wants <em> Gil, </em>and now he will never have him.</p><p> </p><p>When he gets home, he calls his mother. Instead of her, <em> Nicholas </em>answers, and Malcolm scoffs, fairly unsurprised.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll break your scrawny little neck, <em> whore</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” Malcolm says. “I slept well, thanks for asking.”</p><p> </p><p>“You think you’re so cute, don’t you? <em> Did </em>you sleep? Hmm? Or did you spend the night with your legs spread for Arroyo like the little slut you are?”</p><p> </p><p>"Are you asking if I cheated on my rapist the way you cheat on my mother?" Malcolm asks, and Nicholas seethes.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I'm gonna—where are you, <em> boy?</em>" </p><p> </p><p>"Home."</p><p> </p><p>"You'd better fucking stay there. You'll regret—"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm hangs up. It feels good, but that fades very, <em> very </em> quick. He shudders in fear, sliding down the wall and putting the back of his hand to his mouth. God, what has he done...? He's going to hurt so <em> badly… </em></p><p> </p><p>But Nicholas won't kill him. It's the only thing Malcolm wants, and Nicholas would never give it to him. He'll be immobile for a few days, maybe a week. It isn't like it hasn't happened before. Then, things will go on. He'll move back into the house from his nightmares, without Sunshine. He'll spend every moment of his life in fear of Nicholas's touch, his violence.</p><p> </p><p>Really, it won't be much different from now.</p><p> </p><p>The alarm he set to alert him when the outside door is unlocked—to let him know when Nicholas is here to hurt him—goes off, and he closes his eyes. He doesn't move when Nicholas slams his way inside, though he flinches.</p><p> </p><p>"I will fucking <em> kill </em> you," Nicholas growls, grabbing Malcolm and dragging him up by his arms.</p><p> </p><p>"I wish you would," Malcolm mutters, letting his body go limp as Nicholas shakes him. "Do it."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas, as expected, only laughs. He slaps Malcolm across the face and throws him against the wall, and it knocks the breath from his body, sends him crumpling to the floor. Nicholas looms over him, tossing his coat on the rack and pulling out his belt, doubling it in his hand before giving Malcolm a swift, painful kick to the stomach.</p><p> </p><p>"Did you really think I wouldn't notice you were gone? Hmm? Leaving with that piece of shit...I told you to stay the fuck away from him, did I not?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm is quiet, wheezing in air, and Nicholas brings the metal buckle down against his back.</p><p> </p><p>"Stupid boy! You never listen! What did you do, huh? Did you let him fuck you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck you," Malcolm spits, and Nicholas hits him harder. It lands just over his spine, forcing a choked cry of pain from his lips.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>After </em> I make sure you didn't taint yourself, bitch! Tell me!"</p><p> </p><p>Taint himself? Does that mean...Nicholas won't want him anymore if Gil had? A foolish hope...</p><p> </p><p>"All night," Malcolm says. "Why? Are you jealous?"</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas doesn't even hit him this time, and Malcolm looks up to see more silent fury than Nicholas has ever shown before. He looks downright fucking <em> terrifying</em>, rigid and still with his knuckles turning white around the belt.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm knows he should shut his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Instead he seals his fate.</p><p> </p><p>"God, he fucked me so <em> good</em>, Nick,” he moans. “Better than you ever have. You know...I bet my mom still thinks of him when she's with you."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas strikes out the moment the last word leaves Malcolm’s lips. He brings the belt down hard, whips him again and again until the buckle finally slices into his flesh and sends blood seeping into Malcolm’s shirt, and then<em> again. </em></p><p> </p><p>Malcolm cries, but he doesn’t plead. He doesn’t apologize or beg for forgiveness. Not yet. It hurts and he <em> wants </em> it to hurt. He wants it to hurt even <em> more</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He wants Nicholas to really lose his temper, his self-control, and slit his throat. Nicholas has threatened him with knives to his neck before, all for entertainment, all as a <em> joke</em>, but Malcolm wants him to <em> do it. </em> </p><p> </p><p>Nicholas grabs him, flipping him over so his wounds touch the floor, and Malcolm screams out, starting to squirm as Nicholas takes Malcolm's shirt off and throws the ruined garment aside.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop," he says, as Nicholas unbuckles his belt, knowing it doesn't matter. He knows nothing matters and it makes him <em> furious</em>. Why does Nicholas get to have him? Why can't he be Gil's? Why does he always have to fucking <em> suffer? </em>"Stop!"</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas punches him in the face, and blood starts to gush from his nose, speckling his chest and the floor as he coughs. </p><p> </p><p>"I said fucking <em> stop!</em>" he shouts, kicking out as Nicholas gets Malcolm's pants down and straddles him, pinning him there to work on his own and smacking away Malcolm’s hands as they claw at him. "Get off me! You fucker! You stupid fucking bastard! I hate you! I hate you!"</p><p> </p><p>"You're an ungrateful little whore," Nicholas hisses, backhanding him. "I take care of your mother. I let your family live. I even let <em> Gil </em>live. And what do I get for it, huh? A little slut back-talking me. You're the one who made the deal. You can take it back any time you want!”</p><p> </p><p>He lifts Malcolm up, then slams him back down hard with a hand wrapped tight around his throat. "You want me to fuck you like this or your sissy? Huh?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm scowls, tears running down his face as he blinks away stars. He knows there’s no choice, that there’s never been one at all, and he spits, <em>"Me</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas moves to send his knee up between Malcolm's legs, grabbing his balls in a horrible, vice-like grip and <em> squeezing, </em> digging his nails in."What was that? You or mommy?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm spasms, trying to curl into himself, to strike Nicholas's hand away, able to do neither. "<em>Agh! </em> Me!" </p><p> </p><p>"No! Say it!" He punches Malcolm again, then beats his head down against the floor until he's too dazed to do anything but cry. "Tell me what you want!" </p><p> </p><p>"Stop—" Malcolm pleads, and Nicholas shakes him so hard it feels like he's going to break in half.</p><p> </p><p>"Say it! Fucking say it!"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fuck me!" </em> Malcolm finally wails, tasting blood and tears and bile. "Fuck me! <em> Please—</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"Does that hurt, baby? Huh? How about <em> this. </em> Does <em> this </em> hurt?"</p><p> </p><p>He spits into his hand and strokes himself, then drags Malcolm's legs up, forcing them apart, and Malcolm cries, "No, no, <em> don't! Nick!" </em> and then <em> screams </em>as Nicholas shoves into him with no preparation, all the way to the hilt in one violent thrust. </p><p> </p><p>The pain is unlike any Nicholas has caused him before. He feels like he's on fire, like Nicholas is ripping him apart from the inside out<em> , </em>and he flails his arms, choking on his tears when it only gets worse as Nicholas starts to move, the saliva doing little if anything at all as lubricant. "No! God—stop! Please!" </p><p> </p><p>"Not good, baby? Huh? You don’t like that?” </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm clutches onto Nicholas's shirt, yanking desperately as he babbles whining pleads. It hurts, it <em> hurts, please make it stop— </em></p><p> </p><p>"Shut up, <em> bitch," </em> Nicholas growls, his hands fitting around Malcolm's neck, and he squeezes, nearly <em> crushes </em> as he thrusts. "You beg to die but can't take a little pain? Come on, now! I thought Arroyo got you all opened up for me, but you're still so fucking <em> tight</em>. I'm a lot bigger than him, huh? Probably couldn't even <em> feel </em> him."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm tugs at Nicholas's hands, mouth open wide as he struggles to breathe. "Ple—ase—"</p><p> </p><p>"I thought you learned by now that you're <em> mine. </em> I own your body. This pretty little hole—” He punctuates with a deep thrust, and Malcolm can do nothing but choke. “—is <em> my property. </em> No one fucks it without my permission. Stupid whore! I'll make sure you never forget again."</p><p> </p><p>He moves faster, and Malcolm starts to feels something awfully wet between his legs, and then—</p><p> </p><p>His alarm goes off again, followed by footsteps on the stairs. Two other people have the key, and there's only one it could be now.</p><p> </p><p>Three sharp knocks on the door, and Nicholas looks more annoyed than worried as Gil's voice rings out in the sudden silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm?”</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas’s hand moves from his throat to his mouth in an instant, cutting off Malcolm’s broken whine. He pinches Malcolm’s nose shut, grips him tighter, and Malcolm starts to frantically shove at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm, it’s me…” Another few knocks, another pause. “Please. We need to talk. I feel terrible how we left things.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm heaves under Nicholas, smacking his hand down in an attempt to make noise, and Nicholas leans forward, crushing him with his weight. He puts his lips right up to Malcolm’s ear and kisses it, whispering, “Shush, baby. You don’t <em> really </em> want him to come in and see you with your new daddy's cock up your ass, do you?"</p><p> </p><p>Something’s wrong. Malcolm feels dizzy, so damn <em> dizzy</em>, everything is spinning and he needs Gil...he just wants Gil, <em> please… </em></p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm,” Gil says. “<em>Please </em> don’t ignore me.”</p><p> </p><p>His lungs burn. He desperately wants to cry out for Gil and can’t. And to his horror, even as Gil keeps knocking, Nicholas once again starts to thrust into him. </p><p> </p><p>His mouth moves against Nicholas’s palm, uselessly, soundlessly. Humiliation and shame dig deeper into him than the pain. Maybe he wouldn't want Gil to find him like this at all. </p><p> </p><p>Would he think Malcolm <em>wanted </em>it? That he faced Gil's rejection and immediately went to someone else? His own mother's <em>new</em> <em>husband?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Gil says at last, defeated. “Alright. Just, um...call me when you want to, okay?” He waits a moment, in which Malcolm tries his hardest to scream, his inner ears popping from the pressure, and then murmurs, “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No! Gil! Please don't leave me! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His footsteps retreat down the stairs. Nicholas doesn’t let go of Malcolm, doesn’t let him <em> breathe</em>, just fucks into him harder, until darkness edges into the corners of Malcolm’s vision and he sags on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“You liar," Nicholas chuckles, kissing his throat as he gags. "Did he fuck you at all? Sure doesn’t sound like he did…really doesn't<em> feel </em> like he did…boy, you just wanted to get a rise out of me, huh? How'd that work out for you? Feeling good?"</p><p> </p><p>His eyes roll. Nicholas allows him one desperate, heaving gasp, and his bleary gaze ends up going down, down to where it hurts more than anything. The pain is <em> too much </em>...his chest is on fire…he's going to pass out, there's...</p><p> </p><p>There's…<em>blood </em> on Nicholas's thighs, on his own. He's…he's <em> bleeding</em>. There's something...wrong. He doesn't feel good, he wants it to <em> stop</em>, there shouldn't be blood...</p><p> </p><p>"That's right," Nicholas grunts, "good boy. Fuck, you look so <em> pretty,</em> bleeding for me. Slicking your hole right up for me, isn't it? Yeah, it is. That’s good for you. Must have hurt something awful, huh? Poor baby. Oh, Malcolm...you’re so fucking beautiful.” He leans over, kissing his neck, moaning into it. “That’s good. Take my cock, slut, just like that. Just <em> take it.</em> Just like you're meant to."</p><p> </p><p>It <em> must </em> be all he's meant for, because he can never seem to do anything else. For seven months, for <em>forever</em>. He's so tired...so fucking <em> exhausted...</em></p><p> </p><p>He stares up at the ceiling as Nicholas’s disgusting sounds start to melt away, leaving only the pounding of his heart in his ears, and then finally allows his heavy eyelids to close.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Gil... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He just wants Gil. </p><p> </p><p>He's never wanted anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>The aching in his chest fades. </p><p> </p><p>Everything fades. </p><p> </p><p>And then there's nothing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>MAN this year has surely been...a time. I meant to get this posted after Whumptober but then Some Real Bullshit decided to steal the entire month of November away so...big sigh on that. </p><p>Anyway, don’t continuously plagiarize <i>literally word for word,</i> friends, because people do, in fact, quite easily, notice. That's not at anyone in specific, of course. Actually it's completely unrelated to anything and isn't even about me. Unless you think there’s some reason it should be, or that it is, in which case maybe there's a reason you think that.</p><p>ANYWAY anyway, please enjoy! Seriously, thank you guys for being SO supportive and patient, and even still giving me new comments throughout the pause! I appreciate it, and quite honestly needed the smile every time! Going over this to edit made me really excited again for where this is going hehe, and it feels good to actually want to write again. 💕</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a long while, Gil sits in his car, engine stalling. </p><p> </p><p>He's hoping Malcolm was home, that he had heard and Gil hadn’t simply been pleading to an empty space. He's hoping his phone will buzz with a text to come back, or at the very least the offer of a phone call, but he knows Malcolm would need time to calm down, time to decide. So he waits, a bit less than patiently, and he takes the moments of silence to think. To <em> regret</em>. </p><p> </p><p>For a conversation he's known would have to happen eventually for <em> years, </em> it shouldn't have gone down the way it had. Malcolm shouldn't be so upset, hurt so <em> badly </em>from Gil's own lack of ability to explain.</p><p> </p><p>He's never been good with words, much less when they involve feelings. Feelings neither of them should be having, that Malcolm needs to <em> understand </em> are <em> wrong</em>, but that Gil knows he should have done more to acknowledge instead of dismiss.</p><p> </p><p>He'd panicked. Fear and shame had overwhelmed him from just how much he'd wanted to turn into the kiss Malcolm had placed to the corner of his mouth, how much he'd wanted to climb back in bed with him and do <em> more, </em> to make him feel better in every way that he possibly could<em>. </em> It had gotten the better of him, had made him lash out, and that was wrong. He'd never meant for Malcolm to feel unheard, or worse, unloved. He's <em> not </em>unloved. Gil loves him far more than he should. </p><p> </p><p>Things had been fine, before, with both of them teetering at an edge but never going beyond it. Sometimes Malcolm would shiver just so underneath Gil's touch that Gil would have a nearly unbearable urge to touch elsewhere, but he never did. Sometimes Malcolm's hugs lingered too long, or he glanced down at Gil's mouth in conversation—Gil does, too, he knows, because those perfectly pink lips are <em>so</em> <em>hard</em> to look away—but nothing ever became of it. Gil had thought that, mostly, they'd both accepted nothing ever would.</p><p> </p><p>Until last night. </p><p> </p><p>God<em>, last night. </em></p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes, overwhelmed by even the thought, and, of course, the very image that appears behind his lids is the moment their lips touched. It completely takes his breath away.</p><p> </p><p>They'd <em>kissed</em>. At last. After dancing around it for years, after sometimes coming <em>so close</em> that the opportunity was right there to take but always turning back. And the feeling of Malcolm’s lips on his own, of his tongue dragging over Gil's mouth, of his body being so close against Gil's that Gil could have so easily held him tight and <em>never</em> let go—it was something that had sent electric shocks through him so intense his knees had felt weak as he tasted champagne and sugar and something better, something purely <em>Malcolm</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Had he had even one drink in him, he knows he would have kissed back. It took all the strength he possessed not to as it was, to instead push Malcolm away even when he tried again, and <em>again </em>this morning. It took everything in him to remember Malcolm is practically his <em>son, </em>whom he raised from ten. Gil can't take advantage of him like that. It would be sick. It would be <em>wrong.</em></p><p> </p><p>Why can't the rest of him just understand that?</p><p> </p><p>He remembers when Malcolm started looking at him differently, something he hadn't understood at first. The flushing of his face and body under Gil's touches, the way his breathing jumped when Gil got close. How he would sometimes suddenly start to shift about when Gil was holding him and then remove himself to another room, all things that made Gil start to wonder but never really <em> know</em>, not for certain. He'd done what he could to make Malcolm—and <em> himself— </em> more comfortable; he stayed away, he stopped touching without Malcolm asking him to, and made sure Malcolm was never alone with him because something had gone wrong, he just wasn't sure <em> what. </em></p><p> </p><p>And he remembers the night he'd picked Malcolm up from a college party his freshman year, nineteen and drunk and high out of his mind, when suddenly everything came together, and Malcolm had stopped trying to hide it. He'd tripped Gil back into sitting on the couch, pushed his way into Gil's lap, and nuzzled into Gil's neck, making Gil gasp and tremble as Malcolm giggled and suckled there, making a mark. He'd placed his hand flat on Gil's chest, right above his heart, and something had felt so <em> right </em> about it, so much like a piece he hadn't known was missing slotting into place, that Gil hadn't known what to <em> do. </em> And the <em> sound </em> Malcolm had made, his whine of disappointment when Gil finally regained enough sense to push him back and away and put him to bed…</p><p> </p><p>Gil's heart had pounded for an hour afterwards. He'd felt sick with nerves. He'd touched the mark the boy left, staring at it in the mirror, and his knees had nearly given out. He'd made love to Jackie, leaving a spot on her neck just the same as his, and thought of <em> Malcolm. </em> </p><p> </p><p>And she'd known. Somehow, she'd always known everything. She knew how much he loved her, how he'd <em> always </em> love her, but how he loved Malcolm, too...and she wasn't upset. She'd <em> encouraged </em> it, given him her blessing to <em> pursue </em> it, told him to invite the boy over to talk about it.</p><p> </p><p>She told him it was okay. And maybe he would have eventually believed it, but…then she was gone, and nothing has ever been okay since, and Gil's still pining like a goddamn <em> monster</em>. </p><p> </p><p>And yet. The thought of holding Malcolm endlessly, of kissing him breathless, of doing <em> more— </em> there's something that feels so <em> right </em>about it. </p><p> </p><p>He loves Malcolm. He has for too long. But he hopes one day they can both move past it, because there's just nothing else to do.</p><p> </p><p>Something feels...off. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to pinpoint what it is. Worry, he thinks...worry about Malcolm. Never anything less.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm's upset. He's been hurting himself, <em> badly, </em> burning himself with what looked like a <em> cigar </em> despite Gil knowing he doesn’t smoke. And Gil had only seen one of his arms, isn’t anywhere near foolish enough to believe that’s the only place he’s doing it. It never was before. And Malcolm hadn’t wanted to go home, hadn’t wanted to be <em> alone, </em> had said no one could <em> know... </em> his poor Malcolm…he’d <em> promised </em>to come to Gil if he felt like relapsing...</p><p> </p><p>He rests his forehead against the wheel, groaning, phone still clutched in his hand, waiting. Waiting. <em> Waiting. </em></p><p> </p><p>Maybe he’s waiting too long.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm wouldn’t…</p><p> </p><p>He wouldn’t do <em> more, </em> would he?</p><p> </p><p>No, no, no. Malcolm had long, long ago promised he’d never do that again. He’d <em> promised. </em></p><p> </p><p>He’d promised he was okay, though, too. He’d promised nothing was going on, that he was really fine, that he didn’t need help.</p><p> </p><p>But what if he did? What if he did, and Gil, the one he always trusted, the one he desperately <em> needed, </em> turned him away? The pain in Malcolm’s eyes when Gil had shut that door...he’d tried to pretend he didn’t see, that it didn't matter, but it hurt him. It hurt him so <em> badly, </em> and he knows it hurt Malcolm far more.</p><p> </p><p>What if he did something worse than burning? What if he cut too deeply? What if he took pills, or—God, the possibilities are endless...he could be dying. <em> Right now, </em> he could be up there <em> dead, </em> and—</p><p> </p><p>Gil doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until his vision starts to tunnel, and he staggers out of the car without taking the time to catch his breath. He nearly trips in his haste to get up the steps, knocking on the door a few more times with a trembling hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm? Hey. It’s me, I—I need to know you’re okay. Just—you don’t have to talk to me, okay? I just need to know you’re alive."</p><p> </p><p>Nothing. Some vague rustling, he thinks, but not a word. Panic crashes over him, along with the image of Malcolm on the floor in a pool of his own blood, unable to even cry out for help, and he fumbles through the keys on his ring to get to the right one.</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm?” he calls, pushing the key inside. “Malcolm, I’m—I’m coming in!” </p><p> </p><p>He twists, nudging the door open.</p><p> </p><p>And stills in shock.</p><p> </p><p>“What—the hell are you <em> doing? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm is breathing. </p><p> </p><p>That's really the only thing that matters. Everything else can be taken care of, fixed up, but for half a second after Nicholas had released his grip preventing Malcolm air, Malcolm <em> hadn't </em>taken a breath. He'd stayed quiet and still just long enough for Nicholas's heart to skip a beat before his body convulsed and he'd heaved in, coughing, muscles squeezing so perfectly around Nicholas that it'd immediately finished him off as he cooed his appreciation into Malcolm's ear.</p><p> </p><p>He moves down to kiss Malcolm's neck, breathing in deeply, smelling blood and sex and Malcolm’s irresistible scent as he recovers. Malcolm whimpers softly, and Nicholas pulls back, slipping out of him. Malcolm’s eyelids flutter, and one of his hands twitches, but that godawful tremor hasn’t started up yet, which means he isn’t awake. Nicholas’s release is mixed with blood as it drips steadily out of that pretty hole he loves so much, and Nicholas clicks his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>"Stupid boy," he says. "Look what you made me do." </p><p> </p><p>He pushes a finger up into him, and Malcolm cries out, turning his head to the side, brow furrowed in pain. </p><p> </p><p>“Just checking the damage,” Nicholas says, snickering. He takes a picture—and another…and another—and then strips his shirt off, picks Malcolm up, and brings the boy into the bathroom. He stands under the showerhead, rinsing them clean of blood, and admires just how <em> beautiful </em> his Malcolm is, limp in his arms, head lolled back. So pliant and perfect…</p><p> </p><p>He sucks at Malcolm's exposed throat, right where the discoloration from his hand is. Such soft skin...just like his mother's…perhaps even softer.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to be violent with her, too, of course. He wants to break her, and Ainsley. But <em> Malcolm... </em> he's something else entirely. It's not a <em> want </em> when it comes to Malcolm, it's a <em> need. </em> A need to claim, to hurt, to <em> own.</em></p><p> </p><p>And he'd needed to for so <em> very </em> long. Keeping tabs on them every few years, just to make sure he could destroy Martin Whitly and everything he'd ever cared for, had left him yearning for the boy as he grew. So perfectly, each picture more gorgeous than the last, muscles filling out under clothing, jawline shaping, body becoming something beautifully curved, like it was being sculpted just to taunt him. By the time the boy reached his twenties, Nicholas wanted nothing more than to ruin him. He wanted to introduce himself back into their lives with the sole purpose of gaining Malcolm's trust, throwing him down somewhere, and shoving his way inside. He wanted to see those bright blue eyes full of tears and pain, to see that pretty mouth open as it cried for him to stop. He has no idea how he resisted this long. All that time, <em> wasted</em>...Malcolm could have already been his perfectly pliant little pet by now.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm is still perfect, though, disobeying or not. He's never been anything less. It's not <em> Nicholas's </em> fault that the boy was born to be so…tantalizing, with a body so sinful...he's simply done what he had to, and made it <em> his</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He tilts Malcolm back, letting the spray of water fall onto his face and start to choke him. The boy coughs, trying to turn his head, and Nicholas moves him so it hits him anyway until those pretty eyes crack open.</p><p> </p><p>“There you are,” Nicholas purrs, and Malcolm whimpers. "Oh, no, no. Don't look so scared. It's just me."</p><p> </p><p>The fear only deepens, and Nicholas <em> loves </em> it. He loves how just his voice can instill such <em> terror </em>in the boy, straight down to his bones. </p><p> </p><p>He turns the shower off, laying Malcolm down on the rug and starting to dry him with a towel. Malcolm protests with a yelp when it's pressed between his cheeks, and Nicholas clicks his tongue when the pristine white comes back stained red.</p><p> </p><p>"Ssh, ssh. Oh, you’re going to need to do a lot of wash over the next few days, aren’t you? Let's see what we can do about that bleeding…"</p><p> </p><p>He lays the towel half over Malcolm's lower back, providing no real barrier to the cold as he shakes even harder, and then starts to go through Malcolm's cabinets.</p><p> </p><p>"My dear boy...it's a mess in here. How do you find anything at all?"</p><p> </p><p>He pushes things around, humming to himself as he searches, and then finally pulls out a roll of gauze. </p><p> </p><p>"This'll do," he says, wrapping it a few times around two fingers. "Now, Malcolm, my darling, this <em> isn't </em>going to be comfortable, but I'm going to need you to stay still."</p><p> </p><p>"Wha...?" Malcolm asks, sounding even less conscious than before, and Nicholas doesn't reply, cutting the gauze, sliding it off, and then shoving it up inside of him.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm screams out, clawing at the floor, and Nicholas easily pins him down with a hand on his back, shushing him. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want to bleed out, do you? Quiet, baby…I’m trying to help you here. Let me.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm is incoherent in his response, moaning, and Nicholas rubs his hand down Malcolm's back as he twists the wad, making sure it’s firmly in place, relishing the agonized little sounds every movement elicits, each weaker than the last. Perhaps he didn't need to draw out so <em> many </em>of them...but he has to be sure it stays, doesn't he? </p><p> </p><p>He sighs, running both hands over his beautiful little pet, then leaning to kiss the dip between his shoulder blades, dragging his tongue up to his neck to lick away the water dripping down off his hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs as Malcolm shudders. He kisses Malcolm's ear, takes it gently between his teeth, and Malcolm doesn't react. When Nicholas finally lifts him up, he's once again limp and quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s okay, darling. You sleep. You took it all so well…but you always do."</p><p> </p><p>He takes Malcolm to his bed, bringing the covers over his naked body up to his neck and then dressing himself, casting a displeased glance down at the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Ah. The blood. Well, something’s going to need to be done about that. Malcolm’s floor is going to stain <em> dreadfully </em> if he doesn’t, and that’s an invitation for questions Malcolm shouldn’t answer. The stupid boy never knows when to keep his mouth shut, and today's only proven it.</p><p> </p><p>Lying to him like that...just to make him mad. He's sure that anger is going to fuel the next few punishments, too. Malcolm might not even deserve them right then and there, but he'll <em> surely </em> fucking get them, and he'll have no one to blame but himself. Nicholas will make certain he understands that.</p><p> </p><p>He rummages through the kitchen, sprinkles baking soda over the stain and then gently scrubs it with white vinegar. It’s quite a good thing he’s had experience with this before…nothing he can't handle. Malcolm can repay him for his kindness later.</p><p> </p><p>He's doing up his tie, fixing his hair in the mirror and readying to leave, when he hears shouting in the hall, and the moment he's stepped out Gil <em> fucking </em> Arroyo is bursting in like he has any fucking right to be here, like he owns the place, owns <em> Malcolm. </em></p><p> </p><p>And he<em> doesn't. </em> Malcolm is <em> Nicholas's. </em> Perhaps it's time they're <em> both </em>reminded.</p><p> </p><p>"What—the hell are you <em> doing? </em>" Gil demands, suspicion evident in his voice, and Nicholas forces a smile.</p><p> </p><p>"Lieutenant Arroyo," he says. "What a pleasure. I just came by to help get Malcolm ready to move home."</p><p> </p><p>Gil looks him up and down. He's confused, concerned, and he <em> shouldn't be here. </em> Nicholas should have changed the locks. Nicholas should have had him encased in cement and thrown in the Hudson.</p><p> </p><p>"I need to talk to him," Gil says at last.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, as you can see, he fell asleep," Nicholas replies tightly. "Poor thing was exhausted. Sobbing. He had been since I arrived. He let me in, and oh, he told me so <em> much</em>, Gil. So much about betrayal...he's had his heart broken. I really don't think he would even want you here."</p><p> </p><p>Gil steps back. The words hurt him, thankfully. He seems to take them at face value. Nicholas isn't sure what happened last night, but it's left them both so wonderfully miserable. <em> Malleable</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"I never…" Gil says, looking over to Malcolm, and then shakes his head. </p><p> </p><p>"He told me he never wanted to see you again," Nicholas goes on, and Gil's breath audibly catches. "I'm afraid for the good of his health, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."</p><p> </p><p>Gil looks like he might be sick. Malcolm remains peacefully unaware of it all. Nicholas can't wait to tell him when he wakes that Gil was so damn close to him, so <em> close..</em>.and Nicholas had still managed to make him go</p><p> </p><p>"I just...wanted to make sure he was alright," Gil says quietly, and then takes a breath, stands up a little straighter. "I don't know why you suddenly care about him."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm lets out a soft groan on his next exhale, and Nicholas waves to the door.</p><p> </p><p>"Please, let's take this outside. You're disturbing him." </p><p> </p><p>Gil scoffs. "<em>Me</em>. You've turned his entire life upside down and <em> I'm </em> disturbing him."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas glances over at Malcolm. The boy doesn't move, but he's not as deeply unconscious as he was. If Gil doesn't shut his fucking mouth, Nicholas has ways to do it for him. He doesn't trust Malcolm not to whine like the little bitch he is about the pain, and his nose is noticeably swollen, and he's<em> naked. </em>Gil will ask questions, and Nicholas simply won't have that.</p><p> </p><p>He points at the door, and says, "Get out."</p><p> </p><p>Gil doesn’t move. He looks like he’s taken it as a challenge, when really it’d been a very simple order. So Nicholas steps closer, starts to herd Gil back with a bump of their chests, and Gil’s hand instinctively lowers to brush against his holster. Threatened is a <em> very </em>good look on him...</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t push me,” Gil says, and Nicholas would happily snap his neck here and now—though perhaps with a bit of playing with him, first, of really making him <em> hurt </em>—if only the moment was right. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m just protecting him.”</p><p> </p><p>“I would never hurt him!"</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas takes another step forward. Gil doesn’t want to make a scene, especially with sweet Jessica’s new husband, so he's a good boy and backs up. He looks at Malcolm over Nicholas’s shoulder, and then turns around, going out into the hall.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to talk to him,” he says, facing Nicholas again.</p><p> </p><p>“He can call you later,” Nicholas says, grasping the door. "But I doubt he will."</p><p> </p><p>"You—" Gil grunts, shoving his hand flat against the wood as Nicholas tries to close it. "You don't know what you're doing to him. I want to help him. He's been—you have no idea how stressed to hell he's been since you showed up, and frankly I really don't think you're trying to do anything to fix that! Having him move home? You know what happened to him there."</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas smiles, thinking about what <em> will </em> happen there. He can't wait to make sure Malcolm never has another nightmare about anyone but <em> him </em> ever again. </p><p> </p><p>"His mother asked him to come home, not me. And I've done everything I can to make him more comfortable. We're close friends, me and Malcolm. So don't make the mistake of thinking I don't care for <em> my </em> son."</p><p> </p><p>Gil absolutely <em> bristles. </em> Nicholas had so hoped he would. </p><p> </p><p>"Your <em> so— </em> " The way he chokes is beautiful. Nicholas thinks he'd look better if he never breathed again. "He is <em> not </em>your son. He never has been." </p><p> </p><p>"Well…" Nicholas brings his hand up, looking down at the ring on his finger, and then gives him another, satisfied smile and says, "He is now. Don't worry, Gil. I'll do more for him than you ever could."</p><p> </p><p>He shuts the door in Gil's face, locking it. He hears Gil seethe and curse, and then stomp his way down the stairs again. If he knows what’s best for himself, he’ll stay the fuck away for good. Nicholas has more than enough ways to make certain of it, if need be, but for the sake of not dealing with Jessica crying as well as Malcolm, he’ll give the man a chance. </p><p> </p><p>One. <em> One more chance</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Gh…" Malcolm mumbles, feverishly. He squirms, crying out softly, and Nicholas comes to his side. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Gh </em>…?"</p><p> </p><p>"Gil?" Nicholas asks, smiling, gently running his fingers through Malcolm’s hair, brushing it out of his face. "Oh, yes. He was here, sweet boy, but I sent him away. I told him you <em> hated </em>him. He's never going to want to see you again, baby."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sobs. He seems to believe it without a second’s hesitation. "No, no...no…" He reaches up and out, feeling for his phone as if Nicholas would ever allow him to have it, and Nicholas clicks his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>"No. You need to <em> rest,</em> dear Malcolm. I can't have you calling anyone over while your poor little nose is all swollen, now can I?"</p><p> </p><p>He ignores Malcolm's incoherent reply, wandering his way over to the kitchen counter and looking at each of Malcolm's pill bottles. He then takes one in his hand, pours a glass of whiskey, and returns to Malcolm's side. </p><p> </p><p>"You know, I do know a thing or two about pharmaceuticals," he says. "It <em> is </em>my specialty. A few of these, a little drink to wash it down, and you'll be sound asleep in no time at all."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm shakes his head, his eyes wide in fear. It's <em> beautiful. </em> The way the light reflects in those tears…</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, don't worry, sweet boy. You'll wake up, I promise. I wouldn't kill you. If I didn't care for your life, I wouldn't have let go of your pretty throat. But I do. I told you, I <em> love </em>you, Malcolm. I only do what's best for you. Now...open up and take these for me, hmm?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm turns over, feebly starts trying to get away, but Nicholas doesn't let him get far. He climbs up to kneel on the bed beside him, grabs Malcolm's face, pries his mouth open, and shoves the pills straight down his throat much like one would a dog. Just a few more than he should take—not an overdose, not really. Not one he'll be harmed irreparably from. Nicholas just wants him to<em> be quiet </em> for a while. Malcolm claws at Nicholas's sleeve, but there's nothing more he can do.</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas likes him best when he's this helpless. It suits him so <em> well. </em></p><p> </p><p>"Drink," Nicholas orders, forcing the glass to Malcolm's lips, and Malcolm chokes on that, too. "Come on. You take my cock down easier than this. <em> Swallow. </em> Stop fighting me! <em> Drink it</em>, you fucking whore!"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm still struggles, gagging and sputtering, but Nicholas gets most of it down anyway. Malcolm is <em> weak</em>. He might have fought more, fought <em> better, </em> without the beating and blood loss, but Nicholas has always been lucky with timing.</p><p> </p><p>"There you go, little one," he murmurs, sitting down at his side, petting his hair as he cries. "Ssh. Just go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up, I promise. You made me mad, but you'll find a way to make it up to me. I know you will. You always do."</p><p> </p><p>For a few wonderful minutes, Malcolm only cries harder. Nicholas relishes the sound, enjoys it just as much as ever, humming softly. “Ssh, ssh. You don’t need him, baby. Just me. Only me. I’m all you’ll ever need.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sounds like he might say <em> no, </em> but it’s slurred, hardly more than a moan. Nicholas reaches under the blanket, touching him gently, and the boy’s flinch is pitiful, barely noticeable at all. Malcolm's fingers twitch, but they don’t raise to stop him. Maybe they can’t, at this point.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re mine,” Nicholas says. “Dream of me, won’t you? Oh, I’m sure you will. I’m sure you always do.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s nothing but exhaustion and sheer defeat in the boy’s eyes as they start to flutter, and, slowly, he fades out. His eyes stay closed, new tears stop coming, his hand stops trembling, and Nicholas knows he's asleep.</p><p> </p><p>"Good boy." He kisses Malcolm's slack, swollen lips, and then picks himself up to stand by the window, looking at the street below.</p><p> </p><p>Gil’s car stays at the curb for a while. Nicholas suspects he’s waiting for Nicholas to come out, either because he wants another confrontation or he just wants to come in after Nicholas is gone. He’s as used to getting his way as Malcolm, but, just like Malcolm, that can be fixed. With time, and perhaps a bit of force if needed. There are always options.</p><p> </p><p>He waits. It really doesn't take very long. Malcolm’s phone buzzes with one text, then a second, and then Gil finally pulls out onto the road. </p><p> </p><p>He snorts when he reads them.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please call me, Bright. We need to talk. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>How <em> adorable</em>...but it simply won’t do. Nicholas deletes them, shuts the phone off entirely, and puts it in the drawer, out of Malcolm’s reach until he’s conscious enough to know what he’s doing, to not call someone he shouldn’t and say something that’ll get him in trouble.</p><p> </p><p>He looks so perfect, sound asleep. Nicholas checks his pulse to be sure it's steady, then touches over him for another minute; he would have already been slipping back inside of him if he didn’t know that the boy needs time to heal. A shame that Malcolm had to make him do that…but give it a few days and things should be fine. And if they're not, well...Nicholas isn't going to wait forever. He'll just have to be as gentle as he can...</p><p> </p><p>But the boy looks so much better bloody, anyways.</p><p> </p><p>“Sleep well, my darling,” he finally murmurs, giving him a last kiss, and then shuts the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sleeps fitfully, more nightmares than actual rest. Every so often he can feel himself pull back, drifting into where he can hear the hum of outside traffic, can feel the pain in his face and body and God, his <em> stomach,</em> but then he's gone again, lost in a silent dark that terrifies him. There's nothing he can do to get up, not even to relieve himself, only able to roll away from the mess he eventually makes and fall back asleep.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally manages to keep his eyes open, when he can finally <em> move</em>, his first instinct is to cry again. It feels like a release of the stress, the fear, and he lets himself sob uncontrolled as he sits up. The room tilts, and his head aches, and he collapses to his knees on the floor, grabbing his trash can and doubling over it to retch.</p><p> </p><p>He might pass out again, but he's not sure. Time is going too slow, and at the same time too fast. He blinks, and he's lying down again, body sprawled out rather comfortably against the soft rug. He licks his lips, and his mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to them.</p><p> </p><p>Water...he needs water. So <em> thirsty… </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Gil. </em> He needs Gil, too. But not like this. Not dirty.</p><p> </p><p>Not <em> visibly </em>dirty.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he sleeps again, wakes up shivering cold and in the dark. This time, he has enough energy to push himself to his feet, to get back into bed and crawl across it to grab...where the hell <em> is </em>it? </p><p> </p><p>No...Nicholas hadn’t taken it from him, had he? No, no, no...he needs to talk to Gil, he <em> needs Gil— </em></p><p> </p><p>He breathes out a sigh of relief when he opens the drawer, clutching the phone to his chest for a moment as it turns on, and then the moment he's able to he’s dialing Gil’s number.</p><p> </p><p>Gil answers on the first ring. "Malcolm," he says, and it sounds so <em> good</em>, so beautiful, just what Malcolm needs so desperately to hear that Malcolm feels tears running down his face again.</p><p> </p><p>"I...tried calling you yesterday...but...you didn't answer. I thought…"</p><p> </p><p>"What…?" Malcolm rubs his eyes, fighting the urge to sink back into the mattress and instead standing, bracing himself against the wall. Dizzy...he's so damn <em> dizzy… </em> "Wh...what day is it?" </p><p> </p><p>"What? It's Monday…"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Monday?" F</em><em>uck.</em> He was in and out of unconsciousness for over twenty-four hours. Had Nicholas even come back to check on him? Or had he just left him to suffer and perhaps die on his own?</p><p> </p><p>He hates that he doesn't know. If Nicholas <em> had </em> returned, <em> if, </em>it certainly hadn't been out of anything but a want to keep Malcolm alive to hurt him again. </p><p> </p><p>The idea of Nicholas having full control over his body, doing what he wanted while Malcolm couldn't even stay awake enough to remember…</p><p> </p><p>"Bright...how...how are you?"</p><p> </p><p>How...<em>is </em>he? He's...tired. Achey. And…</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Thirsty</em>," Malcolm mumbles, and starts carefully wobbling his way to the kitchen. His legs barely feel like they belong to him...and his mind less than helpfully supplies that that's because they <em> don't, </em> because his body is <em> Nicholas's. </em>"Ugh. Can I…"</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"Just...hold on. D-don't hang up, please."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, I won't."</p><p> </p><p>He sets the phone down on the counter, jerks the fridge open to take out a water, and God, he's never tasted anything so <em> delicious</em>, never felt anything so good as it cooling his sore throat.</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck," he moans, "<em>fuck</em>, 's good…yes…"</p><p> </p><p>He finishes it, and gets halfway through a second before he remembers the phone. He puts it back to his ear as he pulls the bottle away, and accidentally lets out another embarrassing noise as he opens his mouth. "<em>Ah</em>...G-Gil?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm, ah—" Gil's oddly hoarse before he cuts off, clearing his throat. "Y-yeah? I'm—I'm here. What—what's, um—are you okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. 'm better now. I...I think."</p><p> </p><p>"You think?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," he says again, bracing himself over the counter and holding the bottle to his forehead. He doesn't even remember what <em> okay </em> feels like. "I'm, uh...<em>ha</em>...not feelin' so good these days..."</p><p> </p><p>"I know. Malcolm, we...we should talk, about...what happened. About what I said...how I handled it."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm hates how <em> easily </em> his hope sparks at the way Gil words himself. He sounds...like he's considering that he was <em> wrong. </em>"Yeah? You wanna...meet up?" His knees buckle, and he grabs at the edge of the counter to keep himself from collapsing. "Uh—t-tomorrow?" </p><p> </p><p>Gil breathes out. It causes a burst of static on the phone, and Malcolm bites his lip. He can't help but think just how nice it would feel for Gil to breathe like that right in his ear... </p><p> </p><p>"Yes. Yes, I want to—I would like to do that. Yes. How's eleven sound? At that coffee shop you like?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm makes sure he has ahold of himself before he opens his mouth again. "Perfect. Yes. I'll—I'll see you then.”</p><p> </p><p>"Okay. Goodnight, kid."</p><p> </p><p>"Goodnight, Gil." </p><p> </p><p>He sighs, setting his phone down. It's unnaturally quiet, now, and he wishes Gil was here to fill the silence, to keep Malcolm safe.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders if Nicholas is going to show up, or if he'll leave Malcolm the hell alone for once. It's getting late...maybe...</p><p> </p><p>He groans, slamming his phone down. Nicholas knows exactly what he does on it. He'll see, if he looks, that Malcolm made a call. But God, maybe for once, for just <em> once, </em> he won't...if he wasn't expecting Malcolm to be awake...he <em> could </em>be spared...</p><p> </p><p>There's a tickle down his thigh. He touches it, and groans softly when he realizes it's blood. The injury feels numb, much like the rest of him, but he knows it won't last. It’s just another side effect of being forced to <em> overdose. </em> He’s lucky he’s not—</p><p> </p><p>Well. That’s not true, is it? He isn’t lucky for that at all. </p><p> </p><p>As exhausted as he is, he forces himself to take a quick shower, hardly able to stand as the heat relaxes his muscles further. He replaces the gauze, strips the bed, and then simply lays a sheet over it and collapses, too tired to bother doing more. </p><p> </p><p>He watches his phone, waiting for a text from Nicholas that doesn’t come, to hear the alarm that never sounds, and thinks of Gil until his eyes finally flutter closed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>x </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s not the <em> worst </em> pain he’s ever been in, he supposes, but it’s up there. The drugs in his system were definitely to blame for lack of feeling, because when Malcolm wakes it’s with a cry of pain as he writhes against the mattress, unable to find a single position that isn’t more agonizing than the last. He gets up, and he’s gotten blood on the sheets <em> again, </em> and he’s scared. He doesn’t know what to do. What if he needs stitches? What if it won’t heal on its own? The hospital would know <em> immediately </em> something bad had happened. They would label him a victim, call the police, tell too many people, and Nicholas would kill someone for his failure.</p><p> </p><p>Gil would know, Gil would <em> know </em>what's been done to him, and he won't allow that, either.</p><p> </p><p>The cafe isn’t far, just at the end of the street, so after much deliberation he doesn’t bother with a taxi. He instead takes the walk to get the hang of how he has to tilt himself not to flinch with every step, his legs a bit more spread apart than they usually are, but oddly enough, he thinks it’s something he’s managing to hide rather well. He put some makeup around his nose, left it looking like perhaps he’s just suffering with allergies a bit harsher than usual, and wrapped the bruises around his neck with a scarf. </p><p> </p><p>He looks fine. He <em> is </em>fine. Everything is fine.</p><p> </p><p>He buys his and Gil’s favorite drinks, stands beside an outdoor table, and smiles as he sees Gil exiting his car from where it’s parked at the curb.</p><p> </p><p>It falters a bit when he remembers the likelihood of this turning out the way he wants. When he remembers nothing has <em> ever </em>gone his way, and he's a fool for hoping otherwise.</p><p> </p><p>Gil is going to explain that they need to remain friends, nothing more. He knows that, somewhere. Gil might even...insist that they cut physical contact for a while, until things are less tense. Malcolm is going to end up going home to cry until Nicholas arrives to make it worse. There’s no way he’ll be left alone three nights in a row, not a chance in the world. And that terrifies him, because he won't be able to handle the pain.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe...he can use his mouth, just until it heals. It’s not better, and he has to press the back of his hand to his lips to keep from vomiting at the thought, but he can’t risk losing that much blood again. Nicholas...Nicholas wouldn’t do that, right? He wouldn’t...no. He wants Malcolm alive.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, kid,” Gil greets him, with such a beautiful smile that Malcolm could melt right through the ground, his nausea lessened and replaced with a new, happy warmth in his stomach, thoughts only of Gil, now; how they always should be.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi. I—I—” He hands Gil the cup and curses his tremor, hiding it away before it draws attention. “Peppermint mocha.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil brightens even more, and Malcolm’s anxiety spikes in the best way. He tries not to look at Gil’s lips when Gil says, “You didn’t have to. Thank you. It's...it's good to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil <em> missed </em> him…he loves him, even if not the way Malcolm wants... "It's always good to see you, Gil."</p><p> </p><p>Too much. Gil falters. He reaches up with his free hand to rub the back of his neck, and then gestures to the table. “We should sit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Malcolm says. “I thought...we could walk."</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a little humid,” Gil says, wincing as he glances upwards, settling down in a chair anyway. “What’s with the scarf, huh? You must be hot."</p><p> </p><p>“Not really, no.” Malcolm looks down at the chair, made of flat wooden slats, and oh, <em> God, </em> no. That won’t be happening. It already hurts so <em> much</em>. Walking would be bad enough, but he’s been practicing. He could do it, for Gil. But <em> this… </em>“It’s a...a part of the outfit. I’m not really…” </p><p> </p><p>Gil looks down at his coffee cup, awkwardly fiddling with the cardboard sleeve around it, and Malcolm holds back a whine. Okay...he can sit. Just for a minute. Of course he can, because he's fine.</p><p> </p><p>Carefully, he lowers himself down, and <em>gasps </em>from the sudden intensity of the pain. Instead of standing up, of making a scene that he can't explain the reasoning behind, he tries to fix it, folds his leg up under him and sits on his ankle, but it’s not better. It might, somehow, be worse. He holds his breath, doing his best to be still because he has to<em> stop moving, relax,</em> <em>nothing’s wrong </em>and gives Gil a strained smile. </p><p> </p><p>“This weekend…” Gil starts, coughing into his fist and then taking a drink. For a moment he enjoys the taste, his eyes half closed, and Malcolm is so, <em> so </em> happy to have pleased him. He wishes Gil would let him make him feel good other ways. He wishes Gil would take him home and...</p><p> </p><p>“It...shouldn’t have happened. Not like it did.”</p><p> </p><p>Of course. Malcolm’s a fucking fool. Again and again and <em> again. </em>Somewhere he must enjoy the heartbreak of it all, masochist that he is, because there’s no other reason he would keep expecting a different outcome. </p><p> </p><p>“No?” he finally breathes out through gritted teeth, far louder than he meant to, and shifts again. His heel digs into where it hurts, and he almost can’t hold back his whimper as he hovers over the chair, trying to wait for the pain to stop. Really, it’s a welcome distraction. It makes him care less. It makes him stop thinking about how Gil’s breaking his heart, and more about how Nicholas has already broken the rest of him. “Look, I—I get it, Gil, you—<em> mm </em>—I’m fucked up. I’m a mistake, I—I wouldn’t want to be with me either."</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Malcolm,</em>” Gil says, offended, though it makes no sense <em> why </em> when nothing Malcolm’s said is untrue. Why else, if not to avoid being with someone so—so— <em> pathetic? </em> “You’re <em> not </em>a mistake.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ha...that’s funny, Gil…”</p><p> </p><p>“Bright. Stop. That’s not it. That’s not why. I told you—”</p><p> </p><p>“Just—” Malcolm chokes, tears in his eyes, from the pain and the fear of things changing because he couldn’t keep his whore mouth shut, couldn’t stop being the slut Nicholas tells him he is enough to keep his fucking tongue where it belongs. “It’s <em> fine. </em>Please just—just don’t hate me. Okay? Don’t—I need you, Gil. I need you so much!"</p><p> </p><p>Gil leans to the side, glancing under the table, confused. Malcolm barely notices. "Bright, I'm <em> not </em> gonna—"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Don't leave me</em>, Gil. I'll do anything. I'll never—if you can n-never touch me again, that's—just don't—I need—God, <em> fucking shit— </em>” He leans forward, doubled over the table, and Gil scoots his chair back, standing up, hands just above Malcolm's shoulders as if he’s too scared to touch. Malcolm can't blame him for that, either.</p><p> </p><p>“What's wrong? What hurts?"</p><p> </p><p>It hurts, it hurts so <em> bad, </em> feels like Nicholas is violating him all over again, right here, in front of Gil and everyone on the street that’s looking at him like he’s <em> crazy. </em> </p><p> </p><p>They probably <em> know </em> —they can see just how <em> ruined </em> he is, <em> Gil can </em>—</p><p> </p><p>“I just—need the bathroom,” he gasps out at last, “<em>fuck. </em>Just—need a second, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>He stumbles to his feet, knocking over his coffee, and nearly runs into a woman walking by. She curses at him and shoves him back, and he apologizes, holds his hands up as he backs away from her. He’s making a scene, he’s embarrassing himself and <em> worse </em> he’s embarrassing <em> Gil— </em></p><p> </p><p>He thinks he hears Gil say something but he ignores it, his face burning hot and his hand trembling as he keeps his head down until he’s locked himself in a bathroom stall, bracing himself against the door. He's going to be sick…</p><p> </p><p>He undoes his belt, carefully reaching into his pants, and cries out loud enough to echo off the walls when he touches blood-soaked gauze. He wipes his fingers on his pants, pulls out his phone, and, against all common sense, texts the very monster who caused it because there's <em> no one else. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There's something wrong. I need help.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It's his own fault, he—he shouldn't have gone out, he should have stayed home and rested, he—</p><p> </p><p>He slams his head back against the door, furiously, and then takes a deep, shaking breath, trying to calm himself. It's <em> okay. </em>He's okay. He just—he needs to tell Gil he's still sick. It was just too soon…</p><p> </p><p>His phone pings. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What do you need from me, my dear boy?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He sneers, wants to smash the phone to pieces against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I'm still bleeding. I need a doctor. I need you to tell me I can see a doctor. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh, poor thing. I really tore into you, didn't I? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I NEED A DOCTOR. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No, you don't. It'll heal just fine if you stay still. Stop getting out of bed. Why the hell are you at a coffee shop?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> FUCK YOU! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Watch your temper. Don't make me do it again so soon. Or perhaps you'd like to find out if Ainsley could take it better? If I find out you've seen someone, darling...I'll finally be able to see if she's as tight as you. Might even stop on my way home today, if you're sure... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm sobs, screams into his elbow, and then scratches at his arm until the skin is raw and bloody and he's something resembling calm again, though he's shaking so badly and tears are clouding his vision so thoroughly that he can hardly respond at all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No dont. please I won't go I won't I didn't men's it soruf I'm sorry I'll be goid. I wontn go j won't ipromse I won't. Don't hurt the.m please. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Goodness. I think we should really think about getting that tremor looked at, don't you? I think I understood you'll be a good boy, yes? Then calm down. Go home. I'll be over later to make you feel better, I promise. xoxo </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He hates that he always gives into what Nicholas wants, like allowing what he <em> already knew </em>was coming to affect him like this, to make him dig his nails in deeper, until blood is caked under them and he’s worried about what Nicholas is going to do when he sees.</p><p> </p><p>But God, it feels so <em> good. </em> Pain he can cause, can <em> control— </em> too dangerous to focus on. That’s how he’s going to end up doing things he can’t, things Nicholas will find and <em> punish </em> him for, just like he'd promised, because his body was only for <em> Nicholas </em> to maim, not him. </p><p> </p><p>He has enough pain, anyway. He has enough scars. He doesn’t need any more of either.</p><p> </p><p>Still, it’s always been calming to watch himself bleed. <em> Only </em> from himself. Not from <em> him. </em> He drags his finger through the little beads of red, making a thin line down to his elbow and thinking of the razors he could <em> so </em> easily pull out from behind the sink…</p><p> </p><p>The bathroom door opens, and Malcolm flinches as, briefly, he worries it's <em> Nicholas </em>before—</p><p> </p><p>“Bright?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Gil,</em>” he whispers. “G-go away. I mean—I’m—I was just—”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm holds his trembling hand under his nose for a moment, wincing when that hurts, too, as he wipes his sleeve across it and sniffles. “Yeah. I just—I’m not feeling great, still. Stomach feels…bad."</p><p> </p><p>“Did you throw up?”</p><p> </p><p>Sure. Sure, that’ll explain the red nose, the hoarse voice, the tears. “Just—once. But I’m okay now. Really. I’ll be right out, okay? Please...I just...I need a second.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Don't worry about calling a taxi, alright? I’ll take you home."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm hums out an agreement, waiting until Gil leaves again before he pulls the door open and goes to the sink. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t want to look at himself, but he has to make sure Gil isn't going to call a goddamn ambulance the second he steps outside. It nearly makes him cry again to see how swollen and pink and <em> awful </em>he looks...just like Nicholas would want him to. Just like the pictures on his phone would show from countless times before.</p><p> </p><p>So many pictures...there’s so many pictures...if Nicholas found he didn’t want to blackmail Malcolm with the death of everyone he loved anymore, he could just use <em> those. </em> Malcolm would rather die than anyone see them, and yet—and yet Nicholas has probably <em> shown </em> them, to God knows how many people...his <em> friends. </em> What if he sent them to their phones? Emailed them? Put them online? What if there were more copies than he even knew, what if—</p><p> </p><p>He braces himself over the sink, splashing cold water over his face until he can breathe again. “Okay," he mutters, "okay, okay. Shut up. <em> Shut up. </em> I’m okay. I’m okay.” He looks up, into the mirror, and repeats himself a little louder. “I’m okay. You’re okay. <em> Shut up. </em> Stupid <em> fucking </em> whore. You’re <em> fine. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>It’s laughable. He can't make himself believe it. But he says it until he’s sure he’s not going to burst out crying, until he's sure he can make everyone <em> else </em>believe it, before he finally nods and steps outside.</p><p> </p><p>Gil is leaning against his car, waiting for him, and when he comes forward as if to help, Malcolm sticks a hand out and gestures dismissively. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em> fine. </em>All fine, Gil. See?"</p><p> </p><p>“You’re limping,” Gil murmurs with a frown, coming to his side to take his arm anyway, and helps him into the passenger side of the car. Any half-assed excuse Malcolm was going to say in response is stolen with the rest of his air as he sits, and he's left struggling to resist the urge to lay himself down and sob, or maybe <em> die. </em> </p><p> </p><p>It’s just one car ride...it’s not even that far. He can handle pain. He’s done nothing else for his entire life. It’s been the one constant to keep him sane. </p><p> </p><p>Still, when Gil closes the door, he lets out a harsh cry that leaves his throat sore, just to get it out when Gil can’t hear him before Gil slides in on the over side. It embarrasses him…he should be <em> stronger </em> than this...</p><p> </p><p>“This didn’t go how I wanted it to,” Gil says quietly, starting up the engine, and well, at least for once Malcolm's outcome of things is shared. He forces an awkward little chuckle, but then Gil's pulling out onto the road, and any hope of a reply is gone. There's <em> nothing </em> he could have done to prepare himself for the pain of all the tiniest bumps in the road vibrating through his entire being, and nothing he can do to stop himself from collapsing against Gil’s side with a choked moan.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, kid,” Gil whispers, hooking one arm around him and trying to lift him back up. Malcolm whines in protest, and so Gil stops, instead pulling him closer. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got you. Bright...hell, I’ve never seen you like this. You’re white as a sheet. Should I be taking you to the hospital?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No!” </em> Malcolm gasps, and though he wants to sit up to prove he doesn’t need that, he can’t. He just <em> can’t, </em> because the hospital is <em> exactly </em> what he needs, exactly what he <em> cannot have. </em> </p><p> </p><p>He can only shake his head, forcing out a shaky response of, “No. I’m fine. It’s just the—the <em> flu </em> or something, I...I’m sorry...I’m <em> sorry… </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be sorry, Bright. It’s okay.” He feels Malcolm’s forehead, then his cheek, and Malcolm nuzzles up against his palm. “No fever. That’s good. Should probably still get some soup in you or something…"</p><p> </p><p>"...Come inside?" Malcolm asks, and then screws his eyes shut. "The—my place. My—<em> the loft</em>. My—will you—"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Yes,</em>" Gil says, thankfully silencing him. "Yeah, I can...I can make you soup. Why don’t you take a shower, huh? Get more comfortable. And then...we can just…we can talk there, if you’re feeling up to it. If not, I’ll head out.”</p><p> </p><p>Face pressed against Gil’s side, breathing in deep, Malcolm can’t say no. He doesn’t want to. It’s just for a while...it’s all he could ever want. Maybe...maybe Gil will even hold him, just like this...just a little longer. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t hate me,” he says, softly, as Gil finally, <em> mercifully </em>parks the car.</p><p> </p><p>“I could <em> never </em>hate you, Malcolm. You hear me? Not ever.”</p><p> </p><p>“I lo—” Malcolm reaches up, hands snaking around under Gil’s arms, and he snuggles closer, desperately. “Don’t let go. Please. I don’t care about anything else, I just—I just want to be held. Ok-o—okay? Please.” </p><p> </p><p>“Kid…” Gil sounds like he’s never pitied Malcolm more, but it works. He wraps Malcolm in a hug, tugging him closer, and while Malcolm tries to curl up, just the movement of dragging his legs up onto the seat makes him whine and go still. Nicholas taking <em> more </em>from him, when he's not even here...</p><p> </p><p>"I'm...I'm just glad you weren't…" Gil sighs, rubbing Malcolm's back, and Malcolm trembles, breath hitching, clenching his fist and digging his nails in, too afraid to tell him to stop. "I was worried that…when he told me how bad it was, I...I've never felt worse, kid, I—"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm freezes entirely, pain forgotten. "Wh-what? Who? Who is...he?"</p><p> </p><p>"Endicott," Gil says after a moment. "I may have...run into him. You were asleep."</p><p> </p><p>"I was asleep," Malcolm echoes, so quietly. "I was—" He swipes over his face and only now, so very vaguely, remembers Nicholas mentioning something to him about sending Gil away before shoving pills down his throat. </p><p> </p><p>Gil—<em> both of them </em> —had been in his apartment while he was unconscious from Nicholas's attack, and Nicholas had somehow convinced Gil that not only was he simply <em> napping</em>, because things were <em> fine, </em> but that he hated Gil. That he'd emotionally opened up to Nicholas like they were friends, <em> family </em>even.</p><p> </p><p>Of course he had. That's what Nicholas does. That's what he's best at. Gil doesn't know because he <em> can't </em>know. Simple as that. </p><p> </p><p>"He's a <em> liar," </em>Malcolm mutters.</p><p> </p><p>"What?" </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm wants to scream, but he keeps himself together. "Whatever he said to you, he <em> lied</em>. He just...I-I don't know. Doesn't like you."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, you know, I'm not really that broken up to hear it."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm would smile if it didn't hurt so much to lie, over and over again. "What...<em>did </em> he say?" </p><p> </p><p>"That you told him you never wanted to see me again." Gil's voice trembles, just enough for Malcolm to hear the pain it had brought him. It makes him <em> furious.  </em></p><p> </p><p>"Fucker. Fucking <em> liar. </em> I never said that. I hate him. I fucking <em> hate him.</em>" Malcolm's hand trembles where it rests on Gil's knee, and Gil carefully reaches down to take it in his own. </p><p> </p><p>"You hate him?" Gil asks, and Malcolm grits his teeth. "Jess said you'd been getting along. You're moving in with them, aren't you?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't want…" Malcolm almost can't cut himself off. It physically <em> hurts </em>to.</p><p> </p><p><em> I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, don't make me, please, Nick, stop, stop, stop… </em> </p><p> </p><p>He fears the silence that results. He fears what Gil's thinking within it, and he fears what he might say to fill it. Quickly, <em> desperately, </em>he tugs on Gil's sleeve and says, "I don't want to stay out here. Can you help me inside?"</p><p> </p><p>Gil takes a second to just...look at him. Malcolm meets his eyes, and finds Gil's<em> confused</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He's thinking too much about what Malcolm did and <em> didn't </em>say. He's thinking too much. Malcolm wants to kiss him until he stops thinking at all, until Malcolm himself never has to think again.</p><p> </p><p>Then, Gil shakes his head once to clear it, and smiles. "Yeah. Hang tight." </p><p> </p><p>He takes his keys and steps out. Malcolm sits up, groaning, and then quiets himself by the time Gil comes around to his side. He just barely manages to get to his feet, and Gil wraps an arm around Malcolm to help him forward. His hands shake, and he fumbles with the keys, and Gil takes them from him.</p><p> </p><p>"Let me," he says, so Malcolm does. And when Gil scoops him up, carrying him upstairs, Malcolm lets him do that, too, enjoys the horribly foreign feeling of being <em> loved. </em>He rests his head against Gil's shoulder, humming happily even through the pain, and wishes this could last.</p><p> </p><p>"Damn," Gil says when he gets the second door open, nudging it closed with his hip, and Malcolm glances around at the mess he left this morning, sheets strewn about, bed unmade, clothes that were too tight and uncomfortable for his broken body crumpled on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>"Sick," he reminds Gil, raspy. "Put me down?"</p><p> </p><p>"Alright. Shower, yeah?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah." Shower. He can do that. He grabs a pair of boxers and a t-shirt to change into after—and then realizes his mistake. He can change again once Gil leaves…but with Gil here, he doesn't have the ability to make himself comfortable.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he goes to his closet and takes out another pressed shirt. Hiding the marks on his neck would be impossible otherwise, even with makeup. Gil will likely think he's crazy, but...well, it's not exactly a wrong assumption, and they both know it. </p><p> </p><p>When he turns to head into the bathroom, he notices Gil looking around like he's lost something.</p><p> </p><p>"What?" Malcolm asks, and Gil frowns, gesturing behind him with his thumb.</p><p> </p><p>"Where's Sunshine?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm smiles, unable to swallow even as he tries. "She's—fine. With Ainsley."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Don't ask. Please don't ask— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Why?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm closes his eyes against tears. He knows that if Ainsley hadn't taken her before the wedding, Sunshine would have been here that morning. Nicholas likely would have taken her life as Malcolm's punishment. He would have killed her. For Malcolm's incompetence, for his behavior, for his disobedience, he would have <em>murdered her</em> <em>in front of him—</em></p><p> </p><p>"Bright?"</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't mean to flinch, but he hadn’t expected Gil to suddenly be directly in front of him. Gil looks so <em> sad</em>, and he raises his hand as if to touch—and then changes his mind. </p><p> </p><p>"What's wrong, kid?" Gil asks softly, and Malcolm wants to lean into him, wants to crawl into his lap and never have to leave. Gil would protect him, keep him so, so comfortable and so, <em> so </em>safe.</p><p> </p><p>But then he remembers he's bleeding. He remembers no longer has control over his own body. He remembers he doesn't get to do what he wants.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers Gil doesn't want him anyway.</p><p> </p><p>"Shower," he murmurs in response, and heads off. </p><p> </p><p>It isn't pleasant, but that's just how things are, now. Painful. Excruciating, really. The water turns red at his feet, curling around his toes, and he silently cries. If he had the time, he'd cry until the tears stopped coming, but he doesn't. Gil's here. He should be happy. It’s what he wants. It’s more than he usually gets.</p><p> </p><p>He dries off, shoves more gauze into place, and then dresses. He buttons the collar to the top, applies makeup where it’s needed, and then grips onto the sink, trying to steady himself. </p><p> </p><p>So close, Gil is <em> so close— </em> he could tell him, Gil could <em> help him—someone help— </em></p><p> </p><p>He wraps a hand around his throat, pressing fingers into the bruises, until he’s lightheaded and wheezing and the pain centers his thoughts. Knowing he should do <em> anything else, </em> he still looks into the mirror, and he’s <em> disgusted. </em></p><p> </p><p>This is what <em> Nicholas </em> likes. He’s told Malcolm just how <em> beautiful </em> he is when he’s choking, but that’s not what Malcolm sees. Malcolm sees nothing but a <em> whore </em> looking back at him<em>, </em> lips parted as he struggles to breathe for Nicholas to shove his tongue between, eyes widening as he only squeezes harder as punishment. </p><p> </p><p>What about this pathetic, worthless body does the man find so fucking <em> enticing? </em> So irresistible that he has to hurt, to bruise, to <em> break </em> every time he sees it? If Malcolm was just <em> pretty, </em> if it was only that, Nicholas wouldn’t want to constantly cover him in damage, so much so that it left the body beneath unrecognizable. If it was just that, <em> just sex, </em> maybe Malcolm could handle this all better...maybe... <em> maybe... </em>crying to himself every night, never feeling clean again, but not in physical pain...maybe he could pretend easier...</p><p> </p><p>Instead, though...Malcolm had to be cornered and abused by a violent, manipulative, sadistic psychopath who’s never satisfied until Malcolm is sobbing and red-faced and bloody. Malcolm <em> knows </em> that’s what he is, knows that’s why he acts how he does, and yet still Malcolm blames himself. It’s his fault for not doing more in the beginning, when it was only touching. It’s his fault for sleeping with Nicholas the first time. It’s his fault that he hasn’t yet been able to talk Nicholas out of it, even though every time he tries he’s <em> beaten </em> for it and <em> laughed </em> at, because he’s not good enough to help someone change when it matters most. God, it’s <em> his fucking fault </em> for being alive at all—</p><p> </p><p>‘<em> That’s good. Take my cock, slut—just like you’re meant to—’ </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Stop, stop, please stop— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nicholas is over him, suffocating him, <em> tearing him apart— </em></p><p> </p><p>The world tilts, and his knees go weak, and only then does he allow himself to breathe. The sharpness of his gasp makes him cough, and he buries his face in his towel to keep himself quiet until he can recover.</p><p> </p><p>He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that he feels calmer. And Nicholas will never know, because those marks are from <em> him. </em> Malcolm’s been craving the wrong kind of pain. If he strikes himself hard enough, digs his fingers in deep enough, those bruises could feel better than a blade, and Nicholas would <em> never know. </em>There’d be no discipline. Perhaps it’s something he’ll have to experiment with later, when he’s alone.</p><p> </p><p>After Nicholas comes to make him<em> feel better. </em> After he leaves more pain and trauma in his wake.</p><p> </p><p>Gil is in the kitchen when he returns, rummaging through his cabinets. It gives Malcolm an aching sense of domesticity, and for a moment he watches with a little smile. If they lived together...he could sit up on the counter and watch while Gil cooked, could tell Gil how beautiful he looks when he's happy, could ask him to teach him recipes. Or they could make popcorn and cuddle on the couch while a movie played. Or Malcolm could put on a record and they could dance around the loft, and Gil could dip him low and kiss him breathless and—</p><p> </p><p>"You," Gil says, turning to him with one eyebrow raised, "have one can of chicken noodle soup, and <em> literally </em> nothing else."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm knows he couldn't have stayed in his head forever...but a few more minutes would have been nice. He tsks, pointedly tapping his glass container full of licorice on the counter—but last time he'd tried to eat something solid, even them, even his single safe food, it hadn't gone well.</p><p> </p><p>Gil snorts. "Oh, <em> my </em> mistake. You have one can of soup and <em> candy</em>. I can't imagine why you're not feeling good, kid…"</p><p> </p><p>"I meant to go to the store…"</p><p> </p><p>Gil doesn't look like he believes it. He's probably even more convinced Malcolm has relapsed now. He opens the can to pour it into a pot upon the stove, and Malcolm's too afraid of what Gil will say to tell him he doesn't want it, that eating is the very last thing he wants to do right now.</p><p> </p><p>"Why are you...you don't sleep in your clothes, do you? You do own pajamas, right? You know, for relaxing in?"</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn't have an answer, even if he knows it's a joke. Instead, he leans on the counter, and says, “We...were gonna talk about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil breathes deep, shoulders heaving with it. Malcolm knows it’s to gather himself for what Malcolm already knows he’s going to say.</p><p> </p><p>"I shouldn't…have pushed you away."</p><p> </p><p>"...<em> Oh?" </em></p><p> </p><p>"No, no—I mean, not so—hell."</p><p> </p><p>"...Oh." He wipes at a smudge with his finger. He can't remember the last time he did any sort of housekeeping...he's had other things on his mind. He hopes Gil doesn’t notice, doesn’t think about how badly he takes care of himself...he's embarrassed enough. </p><p> </p><p>"It's…it's fine, Gil. Really. I told you."</p><p> </p><p>Gil finally faces him, though it takes a moment for him to raise his eyes to meet Malcolm's. "It's wrong," he says at last, very quietly. </p><p> </p><p>"Wrong," Malcolm echoes.</p><p> </p><p>"You and...me. It's…" He huffs, rubbing at his eyes, and then shakes his head. "It's wrong."</p><p> </p><p>"You think you're taking advantage of me." Malcolm doesn't dare get closer, but God, he aches to push up against him, to beg him to see things from Malcolm's point of view, to give Gil as much consent as he wants to hear.</p><p> </p><p>"I would be," Gil says. "I <em> would </em> be...taking advantage of you. And I'm not like that, Bright. You—you <em> know </em>I’m not...right?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm scoffs. He could show Gil what taking advantage of him <em> really </em> looks like. He could lift his shirt, bare his scars. He could let him read the messages on his phone. It’s goddamn <em> laughable </em> that Gil thinks that <em> loving </em> him, that giving him exactly what he’s always wanted, would be just the same as Nicholas’s unrelenting abuse. "It’s <em> not </em>like that, Gil. I know you. I want you. And—and I know you want me, too." </p><p> </p><p>Gil winces, but once again he doesn't deny it. "It's...not about want. It's about doing what's right. You’re...practically my kid. And I’m not...I can’t be having feelings for my own kid. It's not okay."</p><p> </p><p>“I—”</p><p> </p><p>“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he interrupts. “I mean, I shouldn’t have...said it the way I did. Made you feel like that. Made you think I’m going to leave you, because I never will. Okay? I want you to know that. This is <em> not </em>me leaving. It wasn’t then, either, and I should have made that more clear. But...it’s just…”</p><p> </p><p>“You telling me...what I should have known,” Malcolm finishes, and Gil shuts his eyes. It’s hurting him, <em> badly</em>. Malcolm doesn’t like to see him in so much pain, pain he’s not even bothering attempting to hide. But the fact that Gil <em> does </em> love him, has wanted him, too, makes Malcolm feel...something. Relief, maybe. <em> Lust</em>, certainly.</p><p> </p><p>If only he had the ability to pursue this, to convince Gil otherwise...but where would that lead them? A happy ending? Malcolm would be as stupid as Nicholas tells him he is to think he has one of those waiting for him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gil finally murmurs, and Malcolm tries his hardest not to look as broken as he feels. “I don't want you to be angry with me. I understand if you are, but...we just...we <em> can’t. </em> Things have to go back to how they were. You have to hear me on that, Bright. You can't kiss me again. I—I need you not to kiss me again. I need you to promise me that. <em> Please</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm swallows hard and focuses down on the counter. His hand trembles in his lap. Gil sounds completely breathless as he manages, "Please, Bright."</p><p> </p><p>He's shaking, just a little, as he pours the soup into a bowl and places it in front of Malcolm with a spoon. Trying so hard to pretend he isn't asking the world.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm reaches out, grasping Gil’s wrist. Gil’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away. </p><p> </p><p>"I—I get it," Malcolm says, though he’s not sure he ever really will. It’ll never be okay, but he’s yearned this long without payoff. Really, he has more than he did. He has Gil’s <em> love confession</em>. It’s only going to make it harder in the long run, knowing he <em> could </em> have had but never <em> will.</em>..but once again, in this lifetime, it just doesn’t matter. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks about what Nicholas will say when he finds out. He thinks about the way he’ll taunt Malcolm and say <em> I told you so </em> and call him damaged, tell him <em> that’s </em> why Gil doesn’t want him.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm knows that that’s not why. He <em> knows </em> that. Gil has no idea how disgusting he is, or what Nicholas has done to him. But he also knows that with enough convincing, enough torment and derision, Nicholas can make him believe anything. He <em> has. </em> Malcolm fears for when he’s no longer certain that Gil ever loved him in the first place, when Nicholas has successfully driven from him the very last thing he has.</p><p> </p><p>He words himself carefully. “I'm not angry. It’s <em> not </em>wrong, but...it won’t happen.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil relaxes, just a bit. His shoulders slump, and Malcolm catches disappointment on his face before he settles his expression into something more neutral, nodding.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Bright…"</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay. Just…” He slides his hand down to lock their fingers together. “Please don’t...please don’t stop...doing what you do. Hugging me...holding me. I’ll never ask about it again, okay? And I promise. I promise I'll never try anything again, not ever. It never even happened. But you’re...you’re everything to me, Gil. I need you. You’re the only person...that can make things feel okay when…” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> When they’re not, when they never will be again.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>After a moment of silence, in which Malcolm feels sweat dripping down the back of his neck in sudden fright, Gil finally squeezes his hand. </p><p> </p><p>“I’d never leave you, kid. I promise. Not for anything. You’re stuck with me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Think it’s the—the other way around,” Malcolm says, voice shaky and betraying just how relieved he is. Gil’s brow furrows, and he comes round the counter to hug him tight. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry you ever thought I would,” he murmurs into Malcolm’s hair, as Malcolm breathes against his chest. “I won't. You mean so much to me, Bright. Nothing we can't work out. Now eat your damn soup, will you?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm smiles a little, grateful for anything and everything he can get, and for Gil, he does. He leans over the counter, taking it carefully, spoonful by spoonful, and maybe it’s the close proximity of Gil, of <em> safety, </em> that makes Malcolm's stomach able to take it better than usual. It feels good to have something warm in him...maybe he’ll even be able to have a Twizzler…maybe <em> two… </em></p><p> </p><p>All at once, he becomes aware of the way Gil is staring at him uncomfortably intently. He looks over, eyes darting, tugging his collar up a bit more as he asks, “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You just…you look…” Gil clearly struggles for words, and Malcolm worries for what he’ll come up with.</p><p> </p><p>“...Good?” he offers, going for lighthearted and ending up something far more like desperate.</p><p> </p><p>Gil tilts his head, letting out a heavy breath. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then says, “I’m really worried about you.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm swallows another mouthful, just for an excuse to have a moment to think. “No reason to be.”</p><p> </p><p>“You look worse. You—you look like you’re getting worse. You’re hurting yourself, and I...I thought...when you were asleep...when you didn't answer, I thought...Bright, I thought I’d made you—”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t,” Malcolm says quickly. Gil had thought he’d gone home and <em> killed himself, </em> hadn’t he? Instead of goading Nicholas into beating him unconscious practically for the <em> fun </em> of it...which was maybe far <em> more </em> stupid, and not anywhere near as satisfying. “<em>Gil. </em> You could never. Even if I...it—it <em> wouldn’t </em>be your…”</p><p> </p><p>Gil’s starting to look sick, and Malcolm realizes he’s not helping the situation. He feels queasy again, anxiety starting to take over, and he pushes the bowl away. For now, his phone has remained quiet, but he knows it won’t stay that way. Gil is going to have to leave sooner rather than later, and he’d rather not spend their time together doing <em> this. </em>“Please. I’m...I’m fine. I...I don’t want to talk about that. I told you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You told me there were...things I couldn’t know. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that, Bright.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Well, </em>I think you should probably try a little harder.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil lowers his head, quick enough it’s almost a flinch away, and Malcolm feels terrible. He didn’t mean to sound so angry, or for his voice to get so loud...he'd nearly lost Gil, or so he'd thought, and this is how he's treating him once he knows Gil will stay? “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Gil. I just…”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you been going to therapy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes,” Malcolm says, because <em> not anymore </em>doesn’t seem like the best response. He clasps his hands, trying to stop them from shaking. “And—and I take my pills, Gil. Every day. I’m trying. I’m trying, Gil, please...I’m just...I’m trying to…”</p><p> </p><p>He leans over the counter, bracing his forehead against his thumbs. “I’m, um...trying to deal with some stuff, okay? Nightmares.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want...to talk about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d rather die,” Malcolm says, without thinking, and then rubs at his face. “Not...ha...okay…I thought...Gil, I thought...m-maybe we could just...cuddle, or something...please?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bright…I can’t let it go that you’re hurting yourself. You <em> know </em> you can talk to me, don’t you? I care for you like no one else, kid, come <em> on. </em> You have to let me in.” </p><p> </p><p>He touches Malcolm’s shoulder, <em> gently, </em> fingers barely brushing against him, but Malcolm still hadn’t known he was going to do it. His eyes shoot open and he gasps, pulling back, his heart pounding even when he knows it’s just Gil, it’s <em> just Gil.  </em></p><p> </p><p>But Gil shouldn’t be here. Not when Malcolm is like this.</p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t be comfortable to cuddle anyway. He would be squirming constantly, just like in the car, and it would bring questions. No, Gil needs to go. For now, until Malcolm can get control over himself again, until he can hide it all as well as he could before, this can’t happen. And it sounds like cuddling wouldn’t be happening <em>anyway,</em> because Gil can’t mind his <em>fucking business</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“I think—I think I want to be alone, actually,” he says. “Sorry. Can you, um...c-can you...can I be alone?”</p><p> </p><p>Gil breathes out through clenched teeth, and says, “I’m scared to leave you alone. You realize that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm closes his eyes, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to worry about me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I always have to worry about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> don’t</em>. Please. I…” He laughs, quietly, and shrugs. <em> I can’t die. He won’t let me die. I want to die, Gil, but it’s not an option, so don’t worry. </em> “I could never...do that. My...my mother just got married. She’s...happy. I wouldn’t do that to her. And I wouldn’t do that to you. I just... <em> fuck, </em> I just wanna sleep. Can I do that, Gil? Please?”</p><p> </p><p>Gil doesn’t want to. Malcolm can see it written plain on his face. It’s endearing, really, but it also hurts. Everything hurts. He wants to scream. He wants Gil to fucking <em> hold him, </em> to kiss him and fuck him and make him forget about Nicholas for as long as he can, and he never will.</p><p> </p><p>It makes him <em> angry. </em>Not at Gil, but at this curse of a life he’s being forced to endure, where only Nicholas is allowed to have him, where—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘I own your body—I’ll make sure you never forget again.’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He flinches, putting more distance between them and then turning around. </p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm?” </p><p> </p><p>“I just need you to go, okay? I’m sorry. I don’t feel good. Thank you for helping me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to be <em> alone,</em>” he hisses, and Gil backs up. Malcolm hears the scrape of his shoes over the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Okay</em>,” Gil says finally. “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>He wishes Nicholas would listen like that. That he would just <em> get the fuck away </em>from Malcolm if he pleaded enough times.</p><p> </p><p>“You have to call me, Malcolm. Okay? You have to. Or text me<em>. </em> Something. Tonight, and...in the morning. I need to know you’re okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn’t want to push him away. He wants to turn around and bury his face in Gil’s chest and sob out every secret he doesn’t want to keep anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Instead he nods. He doesn’t face Gil. He grips the counter, and closes his eyes, and says, “Yeah. Of course, Gil. Just...please go.”</p><p> </p><p>Gil draws breath to speak, hesitates for a long few moments, and then sighs it out again instead. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Take care of yourself, kid. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm doesn’t reply. He just listens as, slowly, Gil moves back towards the door, dragging his feet. He wants to say something else, or wants <em> Malcolm </em>to.</p><p> </p><p>But neither of them do, and he goes. He shuts the door, leaves Malcolm as alone as he’d ordered, and Malcolm grabs onto the counter to keep himself from collapsing as his legs go weak. He means to go to the window, to catch a last glimpse of Gil as he gets into his car, but instead he ends up facedown in bed, crying into his pillow. He unbuttons his collar, but that's as far as he gets. He’s just too tired to change. He’s too tired to do up his restraints. He’s too tired to do anything, ever again. He doesn’t <em> want </em>to. He just…</p><p> </p><p>He just...wants…to <em> sleep</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s so close. He’s <em> so close </em>to being asleep, to escaping everything for just a little while, when he hears the alarm go off. When heavy footsteps up the stairs make him flinch back to awareness, and he’s overcome with fear and disgust and nausea so intense it makes him gag.</p><p> </p><p>No. No, no, <em> no. </em></p><p> </p><p>The door opens. He curls into himself, shoving his hands over his ears, and starts to sob, knowing it's exactly what Nicholas wants to see and still unable to control it. It just hurts. He can't do it. Not today, not like this, not after Gil, not <em> yet</em>. He’s going to bleed so <em> much, </em> and it’s going to <em> hurt worse, </em> and it already hurts more than he can handle. He can't, he—he just—fucking—<em>can't. </em></p><p> </p><p>"Please," he weeps, "my God, <em> please. </em> Please, please, please, no, I <em> can’t…</em>”</p><p> </p><p>A hand touches his shoulder, and he <em> shrieks. </em>"No! God, don't, <em> please!</em>"</p><p> </p><p>It goes, and doesn't return. Malcolm is...confused. Nicholas has never done what he’s asked before. He should have already sat down beside him and forced him onto his back, into a disgusting kiss, cooing and taunting him for being the reason he’s in pain in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, he uncurls. He pulls his hands down, and he looks behind him. </p><p> </p><p>It's not Nicholas. Malcolm has never wished that it was until now.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, Malcolm stares up at <em> Gil. </em></p><p> </p><p>And just one look at the sheer fucking <em> horror </em>on Gil's face is all it takes for Malcolm to know, with certainty, that nothing is ever going to be the same again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So me and my best friend Zoejoy24 have been working on making a Prodigal Son server for a while, and it's finally ready for people to join! We've got roles, bots for sprinting and more, customizable colors, and a bunch of channels, including one for non-ship 'gen' talk and one for talk of other fandoms! We're really, really proud of it, so if you're 18+ and would like to come hang out with us (and hopefully some more awesome people soon) and talk about whumping the heck out of these characters and, you know, sharing pics of the pretty boy, the link to join is below! It is welcome to all ship-positive, kink-positive people who are looking for a space to feel safe, happy, and, most importantly, welcome. We want to make it for you what others weren't for us. Hope to talk to you there! ❤️</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://discord.gg/eQ3TK4bxn4">Join Prodigal Songbirbs 🕊. </a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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